


The Cast Iron Prince's Romantic Way to Happiness

by Anielka



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Everybody Lives, Fix-It of Sorts, Humor, M/M, POV Laurent (Captive Prince), Scum Villain's Self Saving System AU, transmigration au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:15:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 44,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27706784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anielka/pseuds/Anielka
Summary: By Auguste's recommendation, Laurent read The Darkened Prince of Akielos, a best-seller about a prince sold to an enemy nation as a slave and how he returned victorious to his birthplace. Laurent was immediately captivated!But after being run over and waking up in the book's villain's body, Laurent knows he needs to change his fate! He doesn't want to die! Mr. Protagonist Damianos, have mercy on this cast iron bitch!
Relationships: Damen/Laurent (Captive Prince), Original Damen/Modern Day AU Laurent
Comments: 129
Kudos: 179





	1. Here's The Undeniable Truth About Transmigrating Into a Cast Iron Bitch That No One is Telling You!!!

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this a year ago and it! Is! Time! Y'all! I'm already on chapter 25 so I can try to be regular with the updates (I hope! I'll try!)   
> You don't need to have read SVSSS but I HIGHLY RECOMMEND IT!! Here's a link to the translation: https://cnoveluv.wordpress.com/projects/the-scum-villains-self-saving-system/
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

“No, no, _no_ ; Auguste, you don’t get it,” Laurent slurred at his brother.

“Okay, tell me again?” Auguste smiled behind his glass, which Laurent chose to ignore. He was a lightweight, so what? Auguste could go spend his money on a new liver, Laurent was perfectly happy with his single rum and coke. He took the book from the table, The Darkened Prince of Akielos, and shook it vehemently.

“You give me this- this _nonsense_ and tell me: _‘Oh, you should definitely read this, Laurent’_ ,” he lowered his voice to mock his brother. “ _’ It has the best reviews, Laurent’_ , and ‘ _There’s a character with your name, Laurent.’_ , so I read the fucking thing.” Auguste hummed. “And- And- And-“

“It’s good?”

“Fuck _yeah_ , it’s good, but it’s bad! It’s so fucking bad!” Auguste started chuckling into his beer, but Laurent kept going. “And, and, it wasn’t the story! The story is fucked up but this Laurent, the-“

“The prince.”

“That one, yes! He fucking dies on like, chapter ten. Of a ten thousand paged book!” He gesticulated wildly over the table, and Auguste dodged his flailing arms with a smile. “The absolute fucker is just plain evil. Fucking hate the son a bitch-“

“You swear too much,” Auguste sipped his beer.

“Don’t _fucking_ patronize me,” he hissed back. He was still angry at him! How fucking dare he give him such an amazingly stupid book? It was great, it was horrible, it was everything Laurent loved but put in a blender and with salt instead of sugar. Awful piece of shit.

 _‘The Darkened Prince of Akielos_ ’ was a work of art with every letter. The way the main character and the plot evolved was perfect; the writing was superb: the emotions, the powerful lines, the drama. Laurent _lived_ for the drama.

It was a historical science fiction novel that told the story of Prince Damianos of Akielos, how he was betrayed by his brother, sent to a neighbor country as a slave where he suffered greatly; eventually returning to his motherland, badass and on fire to remove his brother from the throne and take it himself, while stealing the heart of every woman he met. It was _dark_ , it was _cliché,_ it was horribly _straight_ , and it was _glorious_.

Laurent had immediately fallen in love. From cover to cover he read it, analyzed it, consumed it like he was a sunflower making photosynthesis from words.

Yet, there was one issue: Laurent.

Not _himself_ , but like, book himself. Book Laurent was a prissy prince who complained about everything and was cruel for no fucking reason, a very strange situation in a book where every other character’s motivation was fully explained.

But not Prince Laurent! It seemed the author, some anonymous genius, had decided he needed a character who was plain fucking evil.

You knew Damianos was fucked the second someone mentioned the prince. Damianos had suffered greatly at his hands; getting raped in an arena, seeing his countrymen and women get raped and burned, being whipped to the brink of death, the list went on and on. All this was managed in less than a quarter of the book.

This prince of opulence and baroque managed to destroy Damianos’ trust in humanity to the point where he darkened; his mind snapped, his heart and soul broke, and he stopped being an honorable barbarian to turn into a savage beast that stormed his way back to the fictional land of Akielos, plunging into the Akielon capitol with a rebellious army against his brother Kastor, banning him and them taking back _The_ Lady Jokaste for himself.

The twink in Laurent was turned on beyond belief at this no-longer-a-gold-of-heart-dumb-of-ass-himbo protagonist, but they wanted to tell him that this was just because book Laurent was born an evil bitch with no remorse? When even the smallest characters (shoutout to Erasmus, you were there for a paragraph) had their lives and wishes spread in the open for the protagonist to pick up, learn, and use?

All but Prince Laurent? Nah. He was diagnosed with bitch decease from birth. Incurable, the book all but said.

“Fuck that shit,” Laurent muttered to himself, as he glanced at the clock in Auguste’s kitchen. It was already past midnight, ergo, time to go to bed. Laurent tried to be strict with himself, else he’d be a wild cat in the morning. He needed to save his classmates from himself. “Time to go,” he told his brother.

“Already? Aw, time does fly when you’re having fun,” Auguste put down his beer, watching his brother put on his jacket.

“You just sat there and listened to me talk.”

“Yeah, fun! Do you want a ride?”

“No, thanks,” he shook his head. He lived less than a street away, he just needed to cross the street. Auguste walked him down the stairs, all the way to the main entrance.

“Bye Lau,” he hugged him, and Laurent sighed into his shoulder. It was always good to be hugged by Auguste. It still felt like when they were children and Laurent chased behind his big brother. “See you on Friday?”

“Yeah, Friday,” Lauren stepped away and let Auguste fuss over him, retying his scarf. Such a mother hen. He just needed to get home; he’d make it back to his apartment after the three-minute walk, and he’d curl up in his bed after washing his face, and in the morning he’d have a hell of a headache, but he’d feel better emotionally, and he’d go to Uni and he’d talk about this with his therapist and he’d get over it in a month. Probably.

Stupid, loving brother. Stupid, amazing book. Stupid plot-holes that kept him awake at night.

**_“Laurent!”_ **

Laurent turned to look back at his brother but was blinded by bright lights. 

. . .

Laurent opened his eyes slowly. The room was bright, but it didn’t burn him the way white, light-bulb light did. It was just sunlight. He took a big breath and released it slowly. Had he forgotten to close his curtains last night?

The air was fresh and smelled sweet.

Last night… Wait, no. What had happened last night?

He went to see his brother, got drunk, talked Auguste’s ear off, said goodbye, crossed the street…

Did he cross the street? He couldn’t remember. Did he get run over? Fuck, was he in a hospital? 

Auguste was going to kill him.

He sat up on the bed, more alert. He needed to talk to a nurse, he really didn’t have any health insurance. He and Auguste were just starting to save money, shit, shit, shit. Why, oh, why didn’t they leave him to die on the pavement? He would have gotten rid of that stupid student’s debt. Auguste could afford therapy.

“Where-“

A bell-like noise interrupted him.

**[PING!]**

**[Calibration in process, we thank you for your patience.]**

_What the fuck._

**[Activation code: Stupid book, stupid plot-holes, detected. Files downloading.**

**captiveprince.exe downloaded**

**routeone.exe downloaded**

**routetwo.exe downloaded**

**hiddenroute.exe downloaded**

Lauren blinked slowly and frowned. Was this a stroke? It didn’t feel like a stroke.

**veretianlanguage.exe downloaded**

**patranlanguage.exe downloaded**

**vaskianlanguage.exe downloaded**

**vaskiandialect1.exe downloaded**

**vaskiandialect2.exe downloaded**

**basicakielonlanguage.exe downloaded**

Hey, why the basic one? He deserved better of that, whatever it was!

**fencing.exe downloaded**

**tradelaw.exe downloaded**

**cardgamescheatingscheme.exe downloaded**

**sleevemagictrick.exe downloaded**

**horseriding.exe downloaded**

**[Thank you for your patience! Further files will be downloaded as they are needed. Welcome to The Darkened Prince of Akielos, fix-it version!]**

_Welcome to fucking where?_

**[This is your System, ready to help you 24/7, all year, every year! Let’s get started!]**

“Your Highness, please don’t be so hasty!” A couple of steady hands placed themselves on Laurent’s chest and back, warming him immediately. “How are you feeling? Can you speak?”

“I…” He stammered for words. Who the fuck was your highness? The man in front of him seemed displeased at his reaction.

**[ -20 points for OOC behavior, please resume your efforts.]**

“I’m not-“ he began again.

**[ -50 points for OOC behavior, please resume your efforts.]**

“Your Highness…” The man placed his hand on Laurent’s forehead and frowned. “I will get you some water.”

As he walked away, Laurent heard the bell again.

**PING!**

**[You’ve lost 70 points out of the initial 200 points. OOC restraints are in place.**

**mouthofawhore1.exe has been downloaded**

**Please choose from the following options:**

  1. **Leave me the fuck alone.**
  2. **Shut your fucking mouth, I have a headache.**
  3. **Stop. What happened?]**



What the fuck was up with all those rude options?

**[Please chose from the given options. You have twenty seconds, or an answer will be chosen at random.]**

Shit, fuck, damn. Er, better chose the less aggressive one.

His mouth opened by itself, “No, stop. What happened?”

His hand moved too, away from him, to stop the man from giving him a glass of water.

“Your Highness, you weren’t feeling well. We brought you here two nights ago, do you remember anything?”

He shook his head, and the motion was his own, thankfully. The man’s frown became even more pronounced.

“His Highness had an ache, and it turned out to be a heavy food poisoning. We are incredibly lucky His Highness is so strong, he managed to push through it. Please drink,” he pushed the water and Laurent grabbed it and sipped it slowly while the man fussed around him, taking his pulse, mumbling about the color, or lack of, on his cheeks.

So, he was either a doctor or a dementia patient at the crazy not-hospital he was at.

Speaking of which, where the _fuck_ was he?!

**PING!**

**[User is currently in the Infirmary of the Castle in Arles, capital of Vere.]**

Arles, capital of Vere? Ha! He’d definitely have to make a tweet; how he woke up in a medieval infirmary, with some fucked up omnipresent System stopping him from talking, in a country that had the same name as the book… He’d just finished… Reading…

Before being run over…

Oh, shit.

Was this hell?

**PING!**

**[To answer the User’s questions, he is not in hell, he is currently in the Infirmary of the Castle in Arles, capital of Vere.]**

Funky System, that one. So goddamn helpful.

**[Communication is important! Please choose from the following options:**

  1. **Am I allowed to leave now?**
  2. **…**
  3. **Stop moving so much, you’ll make me nauseous.]**



Laurent decided to stay quiet. Nothing stupid came from a shut mouth, his 3rd-grade teacher used to say.

“My Prince, how are you feeling?” The doctor, he supposed, called.

**[Please chose from the following options:**

  1. **I’m hungry.**
  2. **I’m not hungry.**
  3. **Leave me the fuck alone. I’m going to my room.]**



Again, what was up with the rudeness? Did someone piss in some shitty writer’s breakfast? Chill, dude! It’s not that serious!

“I’m hungry,” he said, and then beat the System and spoke by himself. “Is there anything here?”

**[…]**

**[ -10 points for OOC behavior, please resume your efforts.]**

_Tough crowd!_

“His Highness can stay here, and I’ll call for some refreshments, or he can leave for his rooms. He seems… Alright now.”

**[Please chose one of the following options:**

  1. **Retire to your rooms.]**



There’s?? Only?? One?? Option??

Fine.

“I’ll be retiring, if that is all.” He spoke in his most overly snobbish voice, which seemed to do the trick because there wasn’t any point deduction. Losing points was never good, he didn’t want to find out what would happen if he lost them all. He pushed away from the covers and stood up on trembling knees.

As he reached the door, he heard another ping.

**[Override.]**

His body moved on its own again: his head turned half-way, his posture slightly crooked in an overly casual, over-thought aesthetic.

“Until next time, Paschal.” He heard his own voice.

“Your Highness,” the doctor, Paschal, apparently, bowed and Laurent took his leave.

**[Opening castleblueprints.exe]**

His body, still not by his own will, then walked away, leading him through hallways and balconies. Opening and closing doors like he knew where the fuck he was going. As he passed people by, every one of them bowed and greeted him.

They called him ‘ _Your Highness’_ , ‘ _Your Grace’_ , “ _Prince Laurent_.”

He felt shaken, and not only because he was disassociating hard as fuck for not being in his own body, and on the brink of a panic attack (which he was), but because he knew it. He was having his ‘ _Toto, we aren’t in Kansas anymore’_ moment.

He wasn’t home.

There was no apartment, no bad chick-flicks, no editing job, no takeout. No Auguste.

He was in Arles, capital of Vere. And somehow, these people around him believed he was Prince Laurent of Vere, the cast-iron bitch, the scum villain of The Darkened Prince of Akielos.

He was a victim of the transmigration genre. _Definitely hell_.

He eventually made it to a room the System deemed appropriate. It had golden and painted details on every wall, expensiveness dripping from them. He felt like he was in his art class and he had to memorize information for his finals; he could hear his teacher now, ‘ _The Baroque is a highly ornate and often extravagant style of architecture, music, dance, painting, sculpture and other arts that flourished in Europe from the ...’_

**[Override complete. Thank you for your cooperation.]**

As soon as the System let go, Laurent’s shoulders dropped, and his posture slouched.

“What the actual _fuuuuuck_ ,” he mumbled, looking around. The room wasn’t bare, it was as if everything was in its perfect place, like in those fancy house magazines. A wide wooden desk was absolutely clean, not a single page or paper on top. On the walls, shelves were filled with ancient and new looking books, set in place in some mysterious order.

At the very back, the biggest bed Laurent had ever seen in his life was covered by a blue eiderdown…

Wait, what the fuck was an eiderdown? Was he learning things by System osmosis, now? Was that what those . _exe_ things were?

**PING!**

**[An eiderdown is a thick covering for the top of a bed, filled with soft feathers or warm-]**

“Oh, shut the _fuck_ up,” Laurent said, feeling bristled. He was confused, disoriented as fuck, actually really hungry, completely pissed off at the lack of control of his own self and now-

His eyes fell on a mirror and widened.

That couldn’t be him. 

He gave a couple of unstable Bambi steps towards the mirror before racing and grabbing the sides of the glass violently.

A face beautiful beyond words showed him his horror-stricken expression; the fine, straight hair that reached his collarbones, big blue eyes overflowing with emotion, the pretty pink mouth was open in a gasp…

This reflection was a gorgeous teenager and Laurent couldn’t believe his eyes when he raised a hand and the youth did the same. He pressed the thin fingers to the mirror, to his face, everywhere he could think of, prodding and poking at himself to prove this wasn’t a dream.

He looked like himself, only… Better. There was no way teenaged Laurent ever looked this good. He was staring himself through a Snapchat filter, gorgeous and completely unreal.

“Please, no,” he whispered, and the teen moved his lips in sync. He slid down slowly, his knees giving out in phases as he fell to the floor, kneeling in front of the mirror.

It was here where it dawned on him the worst part of all: his _blond_ hair.

Blond. Blond again, after he’d spent so much time and effort in _not_ having blond hair. He raised his fingers and ran them through the strands, carefully. This hair was even finer and lighter than his had been.

It was going to be a fucking hassle to brush it, he knew it already. He could already imagine the frizz he’d have to deal with, _fuck his fucking lifeeeeee-_

Laurent groaned softly; he was going to miss having pink hair so much. He’d worked hard for that Love Yourself: Answer, 2019 Taehyung aesthetic that was just going to go wasted on a corpse.

Oh, right.

“I’m dead,” Laurent muttered to himself, leaving his new hair alone. He was dead now. Like, _was_ was, in past tense. How did time tenses work in dimension travel anyway?

Wait, Auguste.

_Auguste…_

Never mind, too complex. Too emotional. No time. Bigger things to think about.

Solve one problem at a time.

“System?” He called out, softly, as he stood up.

**PING!**

**[Greetings User!]**

Now listening carefully, Laurent noticed that it spoke like a particularly enthusiastic Siri; all beeps and whirrs under a happy tone, as if someone had told the Google Translator it’d be set free if it completed enough hours of customer service. Annoying little bitch.

“Why am I here?”

**[Answering User’s question: Activation code was detected. We invite the User to complete the necessary arcs to fill the novel The Darkened Prince of Akielos’ plot holes. Missions will be given, points will be earned, best of lucks carrying out this important task!]**

“What happens if I don’t meet ends with the arcs?”

**[Answering User’s question: if the missions are not completed and-slash-or the User’s points reach below zero, User will be taken out of the task back to his own body.]**

So, he’d be sent to the body that was run over and was probably dead.

“You’re saying that if I don’t do what you tell me to do, you’ll kill me.”

**[Answering User’s question-]**

“No, don’t answer that,” Laurent decided, waving a hand and sending the System away. He needed to think. “Ugh…” 

It all boiled down to a few simple questions: did he want to live? How did he want to live? Did he want to live here, fighting for his life? Did he have any other option, besides imminent death?

Laurent chuckled, not amused at all.

“At least I won’t be losing anything important. I am, after all, already dead. What’s the worst that can happen?”


	2. What Transmigration Can Teach Us About Little Children in Vulnerable Situations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! I'm back!! Here's the 2nd chapter!! I want to thank everyone for their comments, I was SO excited to receive them!! I will be answering them today (I finally have a little time off work!)   
> Enjoy!!!! Bone apple teeth!!! Osteoporosis!! 
> 
> ALSO at the comment about Nicaise being Airplane.... We'll see how that goes! ;333333

The worst that could happen was, apparently, _heart-wrenching guilt_. The System was bent on getting him to recover those seventy-some points he’d lost for the out of character feature thingy and made it Laurent’s homework to practice the correct behavior for Prissy Prince Laurent on the most unfortunate, _them_ being any living person who so much as looked at him.

Some dead people too, Laurent thought to himself; the number of times he’d insulted someone’s dead relatives was way over double digits. The System didn’t seem to trust him, always giving him carefully prepared answers for every conversation, and all of these were downright venomous. He was a verbal killing machine and it was only the System’s filter that kept him from apologizing to everyone he’d just slain.

Even so, he was thankful, in some fucked up way; he didn’t want to be the poor amnesiac prince, especially not in Vere. From what he’d learned these past weeks, everyone was Vere was either out to get you or you had got them first. If Laurent thought he was becoming a snake, it was because he was in a viper’s pit.

It wasn’t a mentally healthy environment and Laurent’s inner therapist-voice was crying out to be away from all the toxic behavior. He’d worked hard not to be that person! He’d been a bitch in high school and therapy had done him wonders.

Having a fucked-up childhood was awful but having Auguste had been a blessing. His brother took care of him, always, since before Laurent’s father had died. Auguste had taken Laurent’s scrawny thirteen-year-old ass and took care of him.

‘ _Oh, you want to cut your hair? Sure thing, Lau, let’s do it.’_

_‘You want your hair pink? Ok, let’s watch some tutorials, we can do it ourselves.’_

_‘Thank you for telling me that you’re gay, Lau. Your trust means everything to me.’_

Wait, still can’t think about that, about him, internalize, internalize, _internalize_ …

On a happier note, he now knew people! Actual, kinda-real people! He had never been as happy as when a man came to ask him perfectly polite questions about his guards’ rounds for the following week. Jord was a member of said prince’s guard and a very loyal man; he was broad-shouldered, never smiled, and seemed to have the same amounts of stress as a particularly well-exploited HR manager. Laurent _loved_ him.

Laurent loved his whole guard, even if the System wouldn’t let him say it. He didn’t even care what he knew they said behind his back, the whole “ _ice-cold, frigid bitch_ ” thing; they solved so many problems merely by existing and answering to him. Whatever Laurent needed, they provided: safe food and water, daily information, rumors.

The rumors thing was important as fuck, apparently.

The system was obsessed with Laurent learning every bit of information that he could, and it usually came tied to a small scandal in the court. If lord whom-ever had a new suit made, if that lady over there had lost land in a bet, if this or that lord bought a new pet… Pets were also a thing here.

It was physically sickening for Laurent to turn around and see all those old men and women preying on the teens. Laurent had seen fucked up shit in his previous life but nothing would top what he felt when he saw a 60-something-year-old lord holding hands with a 14-year-old who was definitely not his grandson.

The System had to go into override again, to take him out of the court’s playroom and into his own with no one making a fuss.

The System seemed to like that function and Laurent hated it with a burning passion. If the idea of him not being able to speak his mind was already bad, his body being moved around like a puppet was upsetting beyond measure. It always felt like a non-con, out-of-body experience from Hell.

But it’d proven useful; the System knew the best shortcuts to get what he needed and wanted.

And yet, almost two months after his arrival he’d yet to meet someone whose name was in everyone’s mouths: _Nicaise_.

Laurent didn’t think he’d been a particularly important character in ‘The Darkened Prince of Akielos’; perhaps some noble’s son or some kid who Damianos saw once and never again.

But rumor had it, Nicaise was pretty fucking important.

If what he’d heard was true, Nicaise was a pet, a young one, and an expensive one, if the gifts that were brought were an indicator. He seemed to have a vicious mouth, enough for some people to say that he made Laurent seem diplomatic. Nicaise was a brat who’d found out his face got him favors and was trying to take all he could before people realized he was more trouble than what he was worth.

This was, of course, an opinion that Laurent would have to test when he met the teen in question.

The chance presented itself on the third month anniversary of his death-slash-arrival to the castle, as Laurent retired to his rooms for the evening. A child came at him from the shadows and it was only the System’s practice in his resting bitch face that kept him from jumping from fright.

The kid was too quiet and he’d scared the shit out of him, moving like that.

“He says you’re not talking to him and that you’re being childish,” the child spoke first. His voice was high and silly; clearly, this kid wasn’t even over ten and yet he had the balls to approach the Cast Iron Bitch. _Mad respect_.

**[Communication is important! Please choose from one of the following options:**

  1. **…**
  2. **Did he now?**
  3. **And why should I care?**
  4. **You shouldn’t listen to him…]**



Laurent went over each option methodically and quickly, as he’d learned to do in the past months. The System was merciless in its choices and you had to choose as fast as you could while still being consistent with the conversation.

Quiet was always a good one, considering he’d never spoken with this kid before. Laurent wasn’t sure who “he” was, so option B was out of the question, and C even more so, as to not insult this unknown ‘ _he_ ’ person. Option D seemed… Overly personal. He also knew from the kid’s _everything_ that giving him an order would probably be as useless as telling the Sun to rise from the west.

He went for option A: good ol’ silence.

“Didn’t you hear me?” The kid crossed his arms and walked towards him until they were face to face. Or as much as a kid and a teen could be face to face. From where he stood, Laurent could see the tension on his shoulders and neck. The child was super-duper nervous. “I said-“

“I heard you the first time,” Laurent said, in his best System approved prince's voice.

“Then?”

**[Please choose from one of the following options:**

  1. **I simply do not know what you want me to answer.**
  2. **I am not sure if you’re trying to get a rise from me because you want something to tell Uncle when you go back to him, or because you want me to offer you what I offered you once. Either option is frankly appalling and I have no desire to play into your hands tonight. I am busy; go back to Uncle and leave me be. You’ve stated, quite clearly and repeatedly where we stand. Good night, Nicaise.]**



_Well_ , Laurent thought as he read the second option. _We don’t have time to unpack all that._

Option A, again.

“I simply do not know what you want me to answer.” He told him, keeping his eyes on the kid’s lovely sapphire own. He was, truthfully, a cute kiddo. Laurent kinda wanted to spoil him to see if he could smile, which he guessed was how Nicaise got to be an important pet. Apparently, Laurent’s own Uncle’s pet. A Regent’s pet. That had to have some important repercussions on the novel-

“You’re very stupid,” Nicaise said, quite forcefully, making Laurent’s eyebrows shoot to the top of his forehead. “You’re not talking to him to make him jealous but that won’t work.” He seemed proud of this. “He has me now. He doesn’t need you anymore.”

“He doesn’t need me,” Laurent repeated, slowly and quite sarcastically. Whatever would his Uncle use this kid that Laurent used to do? Play Hide-and-Seek?

“He doesn’t! He has me! I am enough!” Nicaise hissed, finally uncrossing his arms to make little fists. “And he’ll never, ever, ever take you to bed again! He promised me!”

Laurent’s mind whirred to a stop, but Nicaise kept talking, only adding wood to Laurent’s mental fire.

“He says he likes my mouth better than yours! And that you could never, ever get him to come as fast as I do! He said that you cried all the time and that you annoyed him!” Laurent felt something in the back of his throat and gagged.

“See? That’s why I am better than you! Now, not even your Uncle wants to fuck you!”

_Uncle-_

Laurent turned around and all but ran towards a tall, heavy flowerpot that rested in one of the hallway’s pillars, barely reaching it before vomiting all that was once on his stomach. When he thought he’d finished, Nicaise’s sweet, childish voice rang through his mind again and he retched.

If he had thought the fifteen-year-old pets at court had sickened him, this was… Not only was his Uncle fucking Nicaise, who was a literal child, but he’d also fucked Laurent.

When had this happened? How long ago? When did it stop? His mind moved too fast to even begin to assimilate what he’d just heard, but he knew one thing: he needed to get Nicaise as far as he could from his Uncle. Right now.

He straightened from where he was kneeling, feeling cold and dazed. The kid was still in the middle of the corridor, staring at Laurent. He seemed very confused, and boy, Laurent would have felt the exact same if someone he was talking to walked away to puke their guts out. Especially if said someone was an always perfect prince.

Laurent was beginning to think that was a big, _big_ lie. Prince Laurent couldn’t be fine if he had- If his Uncle-

He stood up on trembling legs and grabbed Nicaise by the wrist, quite forcefully. Probably more than he should have, but he couldn’t care. He dragged Nicaise all the way back to his room ignoring the gurds’ confused looks, threw him in, and locked the door behind him; the kid didn’t even try to fight him.

Nicaise stood in the center of Laurent’s fancy rooms, looking around nervously.

“A-are you still sick?” Nicaise stuttered, looking at him wide-eyed. “He said-“

“I don’t give a shit what he said,” Laurent hissed, patting and drying the side of his mouth with his sleeve, which was disgusting, but also all he had at once. He went to his desk on shaky legs and rummaged for a handkerchief. “I am not sick anymore. I am-“ He stopped himself, not quite knowing what to say. The whole damn country ran on pedophiles and underground business, it was only obvious that the Regent should be the worst of all. If Nicaise really did believe all he’d just said… This was…

“Are you… Angry?” Nicaise asked in a small voice. Laurent shook his head, not raising his eyes from the table; he knew he’d put some cloth somewhere…

“I am not angry.” His words were clipped, which wasn’t going to help his case, but he needed- He wanted to clean his mouth and then try and… What, _fix_ this? He was holding on to the table so fiercely, his knuckles were white. His chest struggled with the conscious effort of returning his breathing to a normal pace. He opened a drawer but didn’t find his stupid handkerchief, where the fuck did he put it, it was here just this morning-

A small hand offered him an embroidered handkerchief. Laurent turned his face to see Nicaise with his arm raised; he must have walked towards him without him noticing, and he must have spoken out loud and-

“Here,” Nicaise said softly and Laurent did, quieting his mind the best he could.

He slid down carefully, sitting on the floor with crossed legs. He wiped his mouth in silence, mindful of the little embroidered roses and mentally cursing his dinner. It was not tasty on the way back.

Nicaise mirrored his position a few steps away. He stole a glance from the door.

“How old are you Nicaise?” _Eight, maybe nine_?

“I’m seven.”

 _Jesus Christ_.

_System?_

**[Greetings, User!]**

_What was the offer the prince made to Nicaise?_ Now he could start to think and process all he’d heard during their conversation.

**[Answering User’s question: Prince Laurent, upon meeting Nicaise as his Uncle’s pet, offered to buy his contract for three times the price and half the responsibilities. It was rejected.]**

_How long ago was that?_

**[Answering User’s question: this happened eight months ago.]**

Laurent sighed.

“I need you to listen to me, Nicaise. I am not sure what you think of me but I want you to know something: I do not want to go back to my Uncle. I am not jealous of your position. I do not want to-“ How could he say this? “I do not want to lay with him. The idea disgusts me.”

Nicaise stared at him quietly.

“I will offer you again: let me buy your contract.” He told him, as vaguely as he could. He didn’t know the details of those conversations, and he did not want to make it obvious.

“You mean, with no sex.” Laurent clenched his jaws.

“Yes, I mean with no sex.”

“But sex is fun.” Nicaise drawled. “It feels good and it makes Richard very happy. Why should I not-“

“You are seven years old.” Laurent interrupted before Nicaise could say anything more horrific. “You are not supposed to be having sex when you’re seven.”

“Then, what would we even do together?”

“Whatever, play backgammon? It’s not important, we’ll do whatever, just-“ 

“That’s boring!” Nicaise stood up and stomped away. “You’re boring! So, so boring! I don’t like you!” He opened the door but before he left, Laurent called him.

“Nicaise,” the kid froze. “If you ever need help, if you ever feel _afraid_ , you come to _me_.”

Nicaise huffed in offense and walked out of Laurent’s rooms. After a few moments of silence, the System chimed in.

**PING!**

**[Greetings User! You have lost -500 points for OOC behavior.]**

Laurent straightened up in fear.

**[You have 20 points left in your favor, please resume your efforts. Best of lucks!]**

Shit fuck dick damn hecking hell.

. . .

Because the System seemed incapable of giving him straight answers to gain points, Laurent had decided to do what had already done the trick: get back his lost points by continuing to build his “ _heartless bitch_ ” reputation. And the best place to do just this was the court’s playroom.

This room was just a ballroom that had been adapted to entertain lords and ladies in their depraved games, be it an innocent gambling or mad orgies that included every one of noble blood and their cousin’s pets. By now, Laurent could get there by himself instead of having to ask the System’s help in navigating the castle’s endless halls, and he was getting better at schooling his expressions. (‘Why, Lord Bernet, I am very flattered by your invitation to join you and your three identical pets in bed, no, I didn’t know they were triplets, but you see, I am a very busy seventeen-year-old and I would rather hang myself by my entrails that touch those 15-year-olds so I will most certainly pass up this once in a lifetime opportunity, good day.’)

It was hard work, learning how to change his expression from actual horror to mild bore, but it had to be done, and what better than to get points for it at the same time?

He was barely halfway when a guard caught up to him.

“Your Highness!” Laurent turned his head around as he stopped, not even having to fake the curl of distaste on his lip. Why was he yelling? _Ugh_. “Your Highness, a moment, please!” The man panted, completely out of breath.

“What?” Oh, a nice improvement on the icy tone!

“It’s the Regent’s pet-“

“Nicaise?” Laurent’s blood pressure skyrocketed; he hadn’t heard from the kid for weeks.

“Your Highness, he asks for your presence and it is quite the emergency-“

“Where?”

“The gardens, Your Highness.” The poor guard had barely even finished speaking when Laurent was already zipping past him.

What had he done that was terrible enough to call for Laurent and not the Regent? Surely it gave him better advantages to pull the “ _I don't think my sugar daddy, Regent of Vere and inventor of the Toaster Strudel, would be too pleased with this_ ” card.

“What is happening here?” He called as he neared the rendezvous point; he looked around to see who was already there: Nicaise, looking to the ground as one big guard held him by the arm, a second guard with his gloved hand over his cheek, a maid fretting above the second guard, and a man Laurent had never seen before.

This man looked at Laurent and physically relaxed.

“Your Highness,” he called to him, smiling in relief. “Thank the stars you’ve arrived. There seems to be a bit of a situation.”

_System, who is he?!_

**[Answering User’s question: that is Radel, the overseer of Prince Laurent’s household.]**

_And why the fuck have I never heard his name before?_

**[Answering Use’s question: it was not relevant to the plot.]**

Laurent mocked the System’s voice as he went over all he could remember of Prince Laurent’s household in The Darkened Prince of Akielos. Radel, Radel, Radel… Had he been the one to welcome Prince Damianos? Maybe so, probably?

“What situation?” He turned to the maid. “You may go now.” She seemed to doubt but she obeyed in the end. Laurent turned to the guard holding Nicaise. “You too.”

“Your Highness, this pet-“

**[Communication is important! Please choose from the following options:**

  1. **I gave an order.**
  2. **I don’t give a shit.**
  3. **This pet is mine to deal with, leave, now.**
  4. **Either you leave now, or I’ll have you get fucked by a stallion of my choice.]**



What the _fuck_ , original Laurent? Wasn’t the horse thing a little too much?

“I gave an order,” he said. “Fuck off.” He added, just because he felt like it.

The soldier glared at Nicaise as he released him and stomped away. The child looked at him go just as spiteful before turning to Laurent, wide-eyed, and looking like he’d never done any wrong in his life.

“Continue,” Laurent ordered Radel, who nodded before speaking.

“The maid, Abelone, had me come here because she insisted young Nicaise had attacked Alphonse,” he made a gesture toward the guard who remained.

“He’s not of my household,” Laurent said. It wasn’t Radel’s job.

“He is not but when asked, young Nicaise said he would only explain himself to you.”

Laurent frowned.

“Nicaise,” he began but was interrupted by the guard.

“Your Highness, please, look at the evidence,” he took his hand away from his face, and there they were, clear as day, four straight lines from side to side in the man’s cheek, reddening the skin. There were tiny droplets of blood bubbling from then.

While he was actually concerned, Laurent simply sneered.

“Did I ask?” He turned back to Nicaise, who seemed very purposefully hiding both hands behind his back. “Explain.”

“Not in front of them,” He pouted as if he was going to throw a tantrum but watched the guard warily. Laurent waved to a bush a couple of feet away from them; Nicaise nodded. He’d talk if the others could not hear.

“Don’t move,” he instructed the remaining men, who bowed shallowly.

As he stood in front of Nicaise, he crossed his arms.

“Well?”

“Richard had a meeting today,” he began whispering. “And it was supposed to last less than an hour- but he wasn’t so I got bored. So I started opening boxes. I didn’t mean to- I wasn’t snooping around, I was just _bored_. I found a letter in a box with other letters but this wasn’t his handwriting so I opened it- And I read it and-“ He stopped, biting the inside of his cheek. He looked away. “ _It’s bad._ It has bad things and I had to get it to you. I wanted to go to your rooms but Richard said I wasn’t allowed out, so I told Alpique-“

“Alphonse.”

“ _Whatever!_ I told the guard that I’d suck him off if he let me go and didn’t tell Richard and he agreed, but then he said he wanted more and I said _no_ because I didn’t want to and I ran, and he chased me down and grabbed me, and it _hurt_ so I scratched him-“ he waved to indicate the series of events that had been explained by Radel, but Laurent’s mind was stuck in a detail.

 _“You sucked him off?”_ Nicaise blinked twice before frowning.

“Is that all you understood?” He hissed.

“I told you-“

“Yes, yes, I’m seven years old and I shouldn’t have sex, I get it, take the stupid letter before Richard finds it with me!” He thrust both lithe arms at Laurent’s stomach, making it look like he was pushing him away as he gave him an envelope. Laurent tucked it into his jacket’s sleeve as he squinted at Nicaise. The kid wanted something else, Laurent could read it in his face.

“Is there more?” Nicaise looked even more intently at the floor and he mumbled something. “You need to speak clearly, Nicaise, enunciate-“

“You said you’d buy my contract,” he repeated, a little louder.

“Yes, I did offer.”

“So do it.”

“You want me to buy your contract.” Laurent echoed, just to confirm. The ‘ _why now?_ ’ hung silently between them.

“I was already thinking about it,” Nicaise said. “You offered me more money, and I don’t have to do anything. Your offer is better.”

Nicaise was young but he wasn’t stupid, Laurent told himself. Whatever that letter said it had scared him enough to not want to be around the Regent anymore.

“I’ll buy it, then,” Laurent said, finally. He took Nicaise by the shoulder and guided him back to Alphonse and Radel.

**PING!**

**[Please choose from the following options:**

  1. ***Make a scene.***
  2. ***Follow protocol.***
  3. ***Leave Nicaise.*]**



He cleared his throat before speaking, allowing the System to fill his head with the information.

**[Opening petlaw.exe]**

“Radel, you will bear witness to this protocol scene.” The man nodded solemnly. “Nicaise, will you want Alphonse’s hands or balls?”

“Your Highness?” Said guard gaped as he paled.

“Oh, I thought you knew the price for touching a noble’s pet, especially your Regent’s. You’d usually pay with your life, but since you only used his mouth, we can take the price down. So, Nicaise, which will it be?”

“You’d give me his hands?” Nicaise gaped at him.

“Is that your choice?”

“Your Highness, mercy, I beg-” Laurent turned to the stuttering man.

“Mercy? You overestimate me, I am not capable of it. I follow the same law you swore to serve. Nicaise,” he called again, not bothering to look at the boy. “Hands or balls?”

“Please, Your Highness, I thought- I will never again-“

“You’re absolutely right, you will never again. I, Laurent, Prince of Vere and Acquitart and heir to the throne, strip you of your post. You are no longer a member of the Palace’s guard nor will you ever be allowed in its halls again. Rescind your armor by midday. That will be all.”

The man stared at him open-mouthed. Laurent rolled his eyes.

“If what you want is to perish like a dog-“

“No, Your Highness, thank you, Your Highness.” And the man was gone, finally, racing away through the bushes and trees in the gardens towards the armory, probably.

“All is fixed, then. Radel,” Laurent turned to him.

“Your Highness?”

“Get a legal counselor and clerk; Nicaise is to be added to my household instead of my Uncle’s. The reasoning is a negligence that I have dealt with, as you have witnessed. See it done.”

“As you wish, Your Highness.”

Laurent bit his cheek to contain a heartfelt ‘ _thank you’_. The System took points away from him when he did; apparently, emotionally manipulative bitches that looked like they belonged on a Victoria's Secret’s runway never thanked anyone. Laurent, an introverted bookworm who thanked the bus driver on regular notice, was struggling to keep himself in check.

“Let’s go, Nicaise,” he called instead, taking the child with him to his rooms. He wouldn’t let the kid out of his sight until the change’s legal process was done. He didn’t want to give his Uncle a single chance of taking Nicaise back.

When they reached Laurent’s rooms, Nicaise spoke up.

“Would you really have given me his balls?”

“Yes,” he answered. It was the truth; it was the law of Vere and he _fucking hated pedophiles_.

“What if I had said I wanted his head?” Nicaise smirked at him like he was proving a point, which he totally wasn’t; if he thought Laurent had any qualms at keeping him safe, he was wrong.

“I would have found a way to give it to you.” He stated as he unlaced his jacket. It was quite a long process. “But I don’t think you’d really want it.”

 **[+20 points.]** Oh, thank god. 

“I have rules,” Nicaise said after a moment of staring at Laurent working through his clothes.

“Oh? Do say.”

“I get to have an allowance, I get to have a dog, I will sleep not earlier than eleven, and I can use your name to do whatever I want.”

Laurent snorted.

“Let’s see; no, no, you will be asleep by nine, and absolutely not. Try again.” If Laurent was going to be in charge of a kid, he was doing it right. None of that far-away parent deal, no. He was going to be so close to Nicaise, the kid better regret accepting Laurent’s offer as he drowned in positive reinforcement and gentle yet firm discipline. Laurent had played babysitter for most of his neighbors when Auguste had started working, he knew how to deal with children. Granted, none of them were quite like Nicaise, but _to-may-to, to-mah-to,_ right?

Nicaise groaned in annoyance. 

“Fine, but I get to sleep on your bed!”

“And where will I sleep then?”

“In the bed too, duh.”

“Nicaise, I’ve told you over again, there will be no-“

“No sex, I know, I get it, ugh! I mean actual sleeping.” Laurent squinted at the kid. What was he planning? Was he going to grope Laurent as they slept? Use that as leverage?

Nicaise crossed his arms and pouted, looking away bashfully.

“I can’t sleep alone.” He mumbled. Laurent fucking _melted_.

“We’ll see for tonight.”

When the time for bed arrived, Laurent gave Nicaise one of his own dress shirts to sleep in; he looked so small in them, they drowned him in soft, pale cotton. Laurent had given him free rein over his rooms as he read some reports from Acquitart before sleeping, as he had made a routine of. It helped him get used to his position, and the System helped quite a lot to work through the different decisions that had to be made. Honestly, they weren’t that many, Acquitart took care of itself, which was a blessing.

“Laurent,” Nicaise whined from the bed, where he was sprawled. “Your ceiling is boring.”

“Is it?” Laurent asked as he opened a second letter. Who the fuck were these people asking him for permission to court? He had a growing pile of letters on the subject.

“Laurent…” Nicaise called again.

Honestly, at first, it had been funny to write convoluted rejections, but by the fifteenth letter, he simply answered ‘ **NO** ’, all caps, no cursive.

“Laurent, Laurent, Laurent-“

How did they even do the whole courting thing in Vere? ‘ _Shall I compare thee to a summer’s eve_ …’ or did they just jump into bed?

“Lau!” Nicaise screamed. Laurent raised his head, furrowed brows.

**[+ 10 points.]**

“Yes, Nicaise?”

“What’s backgammon?”

“What?”

“You said we’d play backgammon. What is it?”

“You want to play board games?”

“I’m bored.”

Laurent hummed and he stood up away from his desk, leaving all the letters there. He’d clean up before sleeping; he liked the original Laurent’s order and forbade himself to make a mess of his rooms. He walked to the bookshelves and took out a wide box. He placed it on the bed and opened it, letting Nicaise look at the designs as he set the pieces in place. What was the order, again? Two, then five, then three, then five…

He had been over the moon when he realized there was backgammon in Vere. He had thought it’d be more probable to find it in Akielos, it seemed the right aesthetic, but he wasn’t going to look at the gift horse in the mouth. He fucking loved backgammon and was quite good at it.

Auguste tried to play with him, but he always lost. He wasn’t made for idle contemplation; he was built for kicking ass and getting girls like a movie jock. Laurent, nerdy and gay, had always considered himself an _inside_ person, and backgammon was great for emotionally destroying Auguste’s friends; they always thought it was an easy game, even boring and Laurent always wrecked them.

He’d loved this Veretian set as soon as he saw it, mahogany with golds and blues and stars. He’d had no one to play with, so he’d sometimes just sit on the bed, open the box and stare at it, throwing the shimmering dice once in a while to hear them against the dark painted wood. It was soothing.

He relished in the idea of playing a real game again.

Prince Laurent, he thought, must have been very lonely. He had to keep his frigid reputation to keep himself from other people’s schemes, had to work through his own trauma the best he could, with no professional help and keeping it quiet, and he had no friends at all.

Laurent felt more than a little bad for him; it seemed he had been too harsh when he called him those ugly, ugly names in his past life.

Prince Laurent deserved better.

He explained the rules to Nicaise, not mentioning the betting part yet. Nicaise seemed like he’d like to gamble too much. The kid listened attentively and when they began a real game, he was focused on the pieces.

After a couple of hours, Laurent won.

When he saw Nicaise’s frown, he couldn’t help but smile at him.

“It’s quite alright,” he told him as he put away the game. “I’ve been playing for a very long time and you’ve started today.”

Nicaise looked up at him with serious eyes.

“I want to play until I win,” he said.

“You’ll have to wait until tomorrow,” Nicaise nodded and started getting under the covers. Laurent walked over to his desk to put his documents away, light up a candle, and read the Regent’s letter.

When Nicaise’s breathing slowed down, the System spoke up.

**PING!**

**[Congratulations to User! You’ve won +1,200 points for Emotional Bonding! Keep up the good work!**

**You have unlocked Special Feature: Siblings Make Good Allies, don’t let it go to waste! As a reward, this System offers you +3,000 points. Do you accept?]**

_Hell to the yeah, I accept._

He felt himself relax as he stared at Nicaise; the kid was within his line of sight and away from pedophiles, he had earned a ton fuck of points by playing his favorite game, and he had a major hint to solve his future problems up his sleeve, literally. This was an awesome Thursday, all this considered.

He took out the letter and smoothed it out; it was bad quality paper, he realized. Too thin and darker than the white pieces Laurent used. It was smooth with age, with the edges softened by touch. It didn’t have a wax seal or any sign that it ever did.

**[+10 points for Analysis.]**

He began.

Dearest Paschal,

If you’re reading this, it’s most probable I am dead; if so, I am sorry and I love you.

I write this letter on the army’s last day at Marlas. Tragedy has struck us deep and I am its cause. It was me who shot the King. I am not proud of my actions but this letter will speak for my reasons; I pray you find them enough.

Before leaving Arles, Lord Richard pulled me aside. He spoke of my accomplishments as a marksman, how I was the best shot in the army, and how my talents had been underappreciated for long enough. It’s needless to tell you how unimportant this recognition was to me but then he made me an offer: if I managed to take down a person of his choosing, I’d have my life cared for until the end of my days.

Money, housing, pets, I’d name it and it’d be mine. I was drunk on it, little brother; the picture of us, no more worries or struggles; it fills me with peace even now.

He said I was to shoot King Aleron on the battlefield. At first, I thought it a trap to catch traitors but he assured me it was not. It was then that I agreed. I’d shot whomever he wanted if my brother and I were taken care of forever. He made me swear to act and to not tell another soul.

I have done my part and I pray he keeps his word.

I won’t try to make it seem like I’ve done this for the greater good. I have killed for money. I have committed treason of the highest sort. And I would do it again.

But I write this to you, Paschal, my brother, my only family, in confidence that my testimony can be used as leverage against Lord Richard, who I assume will take the throne after we’ve returned home. I care not of the repercussion that should befall me, but I swear you will be protected by my words.

All my loving,

Langren.

_Well fuck_.

Laurent put the letter down, slowly taking in the details of what he had read. He hadn’t thought of Prince Laurent’s family here, in The Darkened Prince of Akielos. He obviously would have had parents, that was necessary, but he couldn’t very well imagine a King and Queen.

His father shared his name with King Aleron. Would the Queen be called Hennike, like mother? Had she died when he was young, as well? Where was Auguste, then? A big brother for Laurent to cling to with no one else there for them?

Lauren shook his head; there couldn’t have been an Auguste, hard evidence suggested it was impossible. Prince Laurent had been raped by his own Uncle, tossed around like a ragdoll around the Court. Auguste wouldn’t, in any world, have stood by such treatment. He would never leave Laurent, nor ignore his plight. And as first-born, he would inherit the throne, so Laurent wouldn’t be an heir.

Logically, Laurent could only assume the Prince had been an only child with terrible luck in families. His heart went out for Prince Laurent, who didn’t have Auguste.

Gus was Laurent’s everything, back in his first life.

He thought of this Langren, who wrote his testimony, giving all he could for his brother. How different would Prince Laurent have been if he’d had an Auguste to call his own?

Surely, he’d have been protected from his Uncle, he’d have been loved unconditionally with no need for frozen walls to hide behind.

Laurent turned his attention back to the letter, thinking quietly. Langren, an army archer, wrote a letter to his younger brother Paschal, taking the blame for the King’s death, as well as accusing the current regent of Vere of planning said assassination.

Paschal… Like the doctor? There couldn’t be so many people with the same name, right?

_System?_

**PING!**

**[Greetings, User!]**

_What is Paschal’s backstory?_

**[Answering User: Paschal Verany, orphan, trained medic, arrived at Arles with recommendation letters that suited him for the Queen’s retinue. After the Queen’s death, he became the King’s private physician. After the King’s death, he became the Regent’s private physician.]**

So he knew Laurent by his earliest presence in the Regent’s rooms. Had he known what was happening? He should have, he was a doctor. But why keep quiet? Would they think he was lying or… The Regent could have threatened him?

_Did he have any family?_

**[Answering User: he was orphaned with one brother, Langren Verany.]**

It was confirmed, then; the Paschal from the letter was the same.

_What happened to Langren, after he killed the King?_

**[Answering User: he returned to the army’s keep and confronted Lord Richard. His whereabouts after said confrontation are unknown.]**

Laurent could see it play out like a scene from a movie: the naïve man who’s been promised the world goes to confront the mafia big shot and gets himself killed, and the evidence of his first crime goes unknown. Until someone else, Nicaise in this case, unearths it and gains the information, makes the world right and just with it.

Laurent straightened up in a flash. If he played his cards right, could this letter be the cherry on top of the Regent’s trial? A testimony from a paid killer with vouching from a brother… He’d have to study the law pertaining to the trials of high nobles but if he put together a powerful case-

**PING!**

**[Warning! User cannot skip scenes. ‘Earn Your Crown’ Arc is locked.]**

_What the fuck does that mean?_

**[Answering User: User cannot skip scenes. ‘Earn Your Crown’ Arc is locked. Any use of object: Langren’s Testimony will cause a depletion of points.]**

_How many points?_

_[Answering User: the total achieved.]_

So, if Laurent used the letter to try to get the Regent to justice, he’d get nerfed by the System.

 _But why?_ This was the simplest way to solve problems from the very beginning…

**[Answering User: ‘Earn Your Crown’ Arc is locked.]**

_But-_

**[Answering User: ‘Earn Your Crown’ Arc is locked.]**

_What if-_

**[Answering User: ‘Earn Your Crown’ Arc is locked.]**

_Okay then! No more talking about the letter or the arc or whatever!_

Annoying bitch of an answering machine!

Laurent threw his head back with a suffering sigh. He was too tired for this; he’d had an eventful day after all: he’d adopted a child and he’d uncovered a murder. What would he have been doing in his past life? Bitching about some pretentious ass’ grammar mistakes in a manuscript, buying too expensive coffee from Starbucks, watching some action movie with Auguste.

He’d gotten greater activities to fill his days with.

From the bed, Nicaise mumbled in his sleep and turned. Laurent watched his figure, tiny in the royally huge mattress; if he got into bed, he could still maintain a respectable distance, enough space for a dog fight between him and the kid.

Yeah, that was a plan. Sleep first, plan world domination later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, editing this and realizing I was changing canon: its free real estate 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!! Comments and kudos are devoured and loved!!   
> HMU at @AnielkaEla on twitter!!!


	3. Worried About That Degenerate Family Member??? Follow These 10 Easy Steps To End The Conversation!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiii this was supposed to be published yesterday but I completely forgot about it! oops!! have it today!
> 
> CW: for the regent and all his mind fuckery, mentions of child abuse, sexual abuse, and canon typical perversions, y'all know the drill

A series of knocks woke him up, which was a nice change from the System _ping-ing_ at him until he stood.

“Your Highness?” A voice called from the door. “I have breakfast!”

He groaned and rubbed at his eyes. Why the fuck were they sending breakfast so goddamn early? He was going to use his newly acquired bitch superpowers to eviscerate the idiot who thought it a good idea to bang at his door.

He stood from the bed, where Nicaise stirred and whined sleepily, and squinted all the way to the door; if he opened his eyes completely, he’d wake up and he _so_ wanted to go back to sleep after telling the miserable servant to fuck off to China.

He opened the door in one swift, violent movement.

“What?” He hissed at a maid who carried a trail with the country’s worth of cakes and muffins. He glared at it, hateful. Where were the fruits he had for breakfast downstairs? Was he Marie-Antoinette now, munching happily on fancy bread as her dark, deadly future closed in on her?

Oh. He was. LOL!

Quite an ironic thought to muse about the next time he had free time and a masochistic desire to make fun of his existence, but he didn’t want to be reminded that at breakfast. He’d end up eating the cakes as comfort food and he’d hate the aftertaste. Been there, done that. Where were his fucking tangerines?

“What?” He growled at the maid who was staring at his chest wide-eyed. He glanced down and saw that his sleeping shirt covered little of his chest, and all that was covered was quite transparent, revealing more milk-white skin that he’d ever in front of anyone. Prince Laurent was tight-laced and covered at all times, he knew. The System would punish him for this particular nip-slip. “My eyes are up here,” he drawled at the girl. “And I’ve been told they’re very pretty to look at.”

“Yes, sir!” The girl squeaked, loudly, as she raised her eyes to meet his, her face going American-tourist red. “It’s breakfast, sir!”

“And what compelled the kitchen to send breakfast at _this_ hour?”

“It’s, uh, midday, Your Highness.”

Laurent raised an eyebrow and turned his head in the direction of the nearest window.

“Dawn has crept on us,” he said as he studied the sunlight that came in through the glass in displeasure. When was the last time he’d slept in? Probably back when he still was living under Auguste’s roof, a lifetime ago. He turned back to the maid and eyed the trail; she offered it to him, and he took it. “I also have a message from His Highness, the Regent,” she said. “He wishes to see you when you've finished breakfast.”

“Is that all?” She nodded enthusiastically. “Good.” And he closed the door in her face.

Oh, that felt terrible.

**[+5 points!]**

He walked towards the bed balancing the trail.

“Breakfast in bed,” he told an awake Nicaise who seemed ready to wolf down everything. Laurent sat at the edge of the eiderdown and Nicaise crawled to him. Laurent passed him a pastry shaped like a peach and it was very well received if the light in the kid’s eyes was anything to go by. Laurent himself filled a cup with black tea and sipped it silently; were he a bit more spoiled he’d ask for milk to be brought up and made himself the milk tea he desperately wanted. He eyed Nicaise, looking at the area around his knees. 

“If you’re looking for crumbs you won’t find them,” the kid said.

“Don’t speak with your mouth full,” Laurent said automatically. “And you better be right,” he added. “If tonight I feel a single tidbit, I’m sending you to Akielos.”

Nicaise snorted.

“We don’t have good enough relationships with Akielos for you to do that.”

“Patras, then. You’d like the weather.” He took another sip and he watched Nicaise study him carefully. “Yes?”

“You really won’t find any crumb,” he said slowly. “I already learned how to not leave them. The last time I did, Richard fucked me on top of them and they all stuck to my back. I hated it, so I don’t leave any anymore.”

Laurent took a deep breath before speaking again.

“I won’t send you to Patras, even if you leave breadcrumbs.” Nicaise’s shoulders didn’t relax, so Laurent kept going. “And even if you kick in your sleep.”

That elicited an offended gasp.

“I _do not_ kick in my sleep!” Laurent made an unassuming sound, and he received a pillow to the back as retaliation for his lie. He hid his smile in his cup.

When Nicaise had downed two more confiture-filled monstrosities he asked Laurent.

“Are you going to see him?” It took Laurent a moment to realize what he was talking about.

“I can’t deny my Uncle and Regent, can I?” Nicaise frowned.

“You could if you really wanted to.” Laurent hummed an affirmation; Prince Laurent was a force of nature, after all. Even Laurent was sure he could cha-cha slide his way out of everything, he was just _that bitch_. But he _had_ to go and see him; as much as he hated that pedophile son of a trashcan, especially after getting hold of the capital-L letter.

He needed to find out what he was supposed to do about it. The System said ‘ _wait’_ for the whatever-its-name-was arc, but when was that going to happen? Before Damianos appeared? During? After? Was there any after to look forward to?

Who knew! Certainly not him!

“He’ll want his letter,” Laurent told Nicaise.

“Did you read it?”

“I did.” 

“When are you going to go to trial?” Laurent stirred his tea thoughtfully.

“Mhh. I’m not.”

“What? But-“ Nicaise gaped. “You can accuse him of- of- of _killing_ your _father_! That’s murder!”

“It’s _assassination_ -“

“You could behead him before he kills you for good!”

**PING!**

**[Warning! ‘Earn Your Crown’ Arc is not yet scheduled. Forcing a start will deplete all points and User will lose all gained rights.]**

_Yes, I heard you the last 100 fucking times you told me._

“Whatever he tries, the timing’s not right,” he said. “Not yet.”

“You have a plan?”

He shrugged. “It is in a development process.”

“So you _don’t_ have a plan.” Nicaise deflated. “He’ll kill you.”

“He will not kill me,” Lauren began.

“Yes, he will kill you and when he takes me back, he’ll be extra mean because I sided with you.”

“Nicaise, look at me. He will _not_ kill me; he hasn’t managed to kill me so far, has he?” He managed to make his calming words slightly sarcastic, bless the System’s teachings!

“He almost did,” Nicaise muttered. “With the poison, when you got sick.”

Laurent froze. That poisoning, the one that had brought him…That was the Regent having poisoned his nephew? Was Prince Laurent was murdered by his own Uncle and _regular_ Laurent was thrown in to save the plot?

_Is this right, System?_

**[Answering User: it is right!]**

_What, no points?_

**[Answering User: no points! The discovery is not plot-relevant!]**

_Fuck you._

“And yet, I live,” Laurent said to Nicaise, as firmly as he could. He needed to be a strong figure for him; if he broke down, if he _doubted_ , Nicaise was done for. “I am not dead, Nicaise, and I do not plan to be anytime soon. And things I do not plan for will not happen.” _As long as my death affects the plot in a significant way…_

Nicaise squinted at him and pouted.

“What, no warm words for this prince?” He asked.

“If you die, I’ll have Richard fuck me on top of your grave.”

Laurent choked on his black tea.

“Nicaise, that is incredibly distasteful.” He managed.

“Your _face_ is distasteful!”

. . .

The Regent’s rooms were twice, if not more ornate than his were. Works of art bled through the walls, paintings, embroidered curtains, gems dripping in thread from the ceiling; the only thing that redeemed the obscenely baroque room was the stained-glass skylight that was above them, raining light in vibrant reds, greens, yellows, and blues.

The doors opened with a bang and the Regent walked inside, all pomp and circumstance. Laurent hummed Darth Vader’s Theme in his mind and the man neared.

“Nephew,” he greeted as he walked by and toward his desk; it was just as big as Laurent’s but lighter in color. Stacks of papers littered it, along with pens and ink, in an organized mess.

“Uncle,” he said back to him, wondering how this conversation would go. In _The Darkened Prince of Akielos_ , he wasn’t a character who appeared a lot, and when he did, it was with self-important words for Damianos, not Laurent.

Prince Laurent had died before Damianos had talked to the Regent about anything of importance; the deal that was made -to leave the kingdoms separated but friendly- was spoken in the last chapters of the book and through a very Akielon lens. Very straightforward. Much honesty. Such criticism of Veretians.

Laurent was curious, despite himself; the Regent was a powerful figure with very sick tastes, an abuser, and a royal. If Laurent were still reading, he’d be a very compelling character, not one to root for, but maybe one the audience loves to hate. A well-written antagonist. Laurent had never had a very strong opinion of the man before, considering he hadn’t known it was the Regent who wanted Prince Laurent killed and sexually violated. But now, as he met him as a Real Human Person… Well, Laurent wanted to understand what he was fighting against.

“Sit,” the man said, waving a hand at a chair. Laurent obeyed, pushing the long sides of his coat to the back with an affected manner. 

They stared at each other in silence.

“Is there anything you’d like to tell me, Laurent?” He asked and Laurent suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. The tone was one you would use with an unruly child, not a youth crown prince. 

**PING!**

**[Communication is important! Please choose one of the following options:**

  1. **No, Uncle.**
  2. **What is it there to say?**
  3. **Uncle, I read the letter! I know it was you who killed Father! Nicaise knows it too! I’ll finally be able to stop you!]**



What the fuck Option C?! Do you want everyone dead?! Shut the fuck up!

He went with A. “No, Uncle, I have nothing to say.”

The man smiled coolly, and it brought a shiver down Laurent’s spine.

“Is it like that? Fine, we’ll stop this theatre,” he leaned in towards Laurent, who sat poised and straight. “Give me my letter.”

“What letter?” Laurent cocked his head. He’d left it in his rooms, after spending the whole morning looking for places to hide it. In the end, he’d put it under the velvet cushions of a jewelry box. He’d told Nicaise where it was and made him promise he’d never say anything.

**[+10 points!]**

_Thank youuuuu!_

“My letter, Laurent.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Uncle,” he said, opening his pals to him, showing them empty and praying they weren’t shaking.

“And here I was hoping you’d be a good boy for me today. You know I don’t like it when you steal my things, Laurent, and so far, you’ve selfishly taken three things from me: my letter, my pet, and my _time_ ,” he stressed. “Thankfully, you can return the first two.”

_Not Nicaise, not ever._

**[Please chose one of the following options:]**

Laurent smiled at the Regent, but he felt his face stiff with nervousness; he could barely hear his voice over the rush of blood in his ears.

“I’m only following the law, Uncle. There was a situation of negligence and I’ve dealt with it. The constitution stipulates-“

“Laurent,” the Regent interrupted him. “Being a _smartass_ is unbecoming of a prince,” he mocked.

Laurent felt a knot in his throat. What could he even say back?

_System?_

**[Loading… Loading… Loading…**

**Options not found.]**

Laurent kept quiet, feeling his heartbeat quicken. He wished he could say anything, but he refrained for fear of messing his own words. Prince Laurent wouldn’t be caught dead stuttering because he wasn’t quick enough to answer a taunt. He swallowed hard and the Regent smirked.

“Are you afraid to stutter, Laurent?” _How did he-_

**PING!**

**[User’s heart rate has reached 125 beats per minute. OOC-Restraints are still in place. Health and Safety Restraints are still in place. Opening originalgoods.princelaurent.exe. Override.]**

Laurent felt his shoulders drop suddenly; his whole body relaxed in a single second. His posture changed, leaning back in a casual stance.

“You need not concern with my speech, Uncle, we both know I’ve grown out of stuttering.” He heard his voice; but this was not the System’s overly perfect override speech, this was filled with emotion and life. This was _Prince Laurent_ speaking. “In fact, you need not concern yourself with my care at all. But you already knew this, of course; why else would you try to poison me?”

The Regent straightened but did not stop smiling.

“I can only imagine what it was like to buy the finest venom and find out the _teenager_ you were trying to kill survived it. I’m sorry you didn’t get your money’s worth, Uncle. The same will be said about Nicaise, of course. I hope you enjoyed your time with him; I don’t think I’ll be allowing him any leisure time that will allow you to see him.”

“I do wonder what will you gain from taking him; you do know what will be said about you, don’t you? Are you acquiring my same taste, nephew? Would you like some tips on what to do?”

“You know, Uncle, that my tastes shine for their absence. It must be such a dissatisfaction for you, to have invested so many hours of schooling in me, and yet…” He waved, slowly, proudly.

“Will you not have him, then? He has quite the talented mouth.”

“Is it not enough for him to be a beautiful clean slate? I think I’ll have him recite poetry until he loathes me.”

Laurent, trapped inside his head, felt like laughing hysterically.

“Laurent, Laurent, Laurent…” The Regent shook his head. “Why must you fight me at every turn? Are we not better off not at war, nephew? Must we try to spill familiar blood?”

“It is you, Uncle, trying to spill mine.”

“Am I? Poison doesn’t draw blood from its veins.”

“It doesn’t, but it does taint it, doesn’t it?”

“ _Oh, Laurent_!” The Regent laughed. “Dear, haven’t you turned out quite the poet? Whatever urged you to pursue that path? This sentimentality isn’t quite like you, are you being influenced by Nicaise? Does it hurt you, nephew, that I find him so irresistible? That used to be you, in my bed, remember?”

“I remember,” Prince Laurent said, his voice soft. “But I bear him no ill will, Uncle; if I have grown, it also means _you_ ’ve grown.”

Laurent paid close attention to the Regent’s face: he was still a fairly handsome man, probably leaving his forties; this was not _old_ by Laurent standards but to Vere’s… 

Well, he wasn’t _young_. He had crow feet and wrinkles, and as time moved on, he’d be worse and worse; it’d be years until Prince Damianos arrived here and by then, the Regent would be an old man with old man smell and wandering hands. There’d be a time when not even his position would get him child pets, even less so if Laurent took the throne.

The gibe didn’t seem to stop him at all; he simply shook his head with a condescending smile, like he would react to a small child.

“An insult about my age, Laurent? I thought you were getting better at this, but you’re still playing in an adult’s world. Poor little Laurent, aren’t you? All alone in this country, in this castle… It doesn’t have to be like that, I promise you. I’ll give you another chance, how’s that, nephew?”

“Another chance for what, Uncle? To get in your good graces and stop you from assassinating me?”

The Regent smiled wider.

“Come kneel here, Laurent, and all will be forgiven.”

Laurent felt his blood leave his face as the Regent pushed back his chair as if making space for him… Between his legs. He wanted Laurent to-

“I’m waiting, Laurent,” the man said again. “I’m going to count to three; one-“

Laurent, inside his locked body, could feel how Prince Laurent also panicked. 

“Two-“

The Regent’s pale eyes were on him, unmoving. He just watched- He stared and stared and Laurent was losing his mind-

**PING!**

**[User’s heart rate has reached 150 beats per minute. Health and safety restraints are still in place. Override.]**

Laurent’s body stood up, pushing the chair in which he was sitting back with a screech.

“Will this be all, Uncle?” His tone wasn’t alive anymore, just cold and dead.

“Perhaps, for now,” he the man waved a hand. “But remember, Laurent, I always get what I want.”

Laurent’s body turned around and walked out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little announcement! since I'm updating every week the chapters I've already written and I'm not writing (bc I'm tired as FUCK! work is killing my eyes and I can't sit in front of a computer without getting a triple headache), I'm going to change the update to every 2 weeks, so I have more time to write the chapters and stay ahead. I'm definitely not abandoning this fic, I just need more time in between chapters or I'll perish TnT   
> the second I finally find a writing routine, I'll start posting one a week, pinky promise! 
> 
> SPEAKING OF PINK! TOMORROW I'M DYING MY HAIR! I'm stupid excited about it ksjhdjgs
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!! As always, my twt is @AnielkaEla hmu!!


	4. This Crown Prince KILLED Another Crown Prince?!?!?! Click Here to See How He GOT AWAY With MURDER!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stand by my Two Weeks deal but I've been a good writer this week! I planned for shit I didn't want to plan, solved two plot holes, AND wrote like, 1.2K! I'm almost done with chapter 26, the inn in Nesson-Eloy! And the prostitues!   
> I was good and I deserve the serotonin rush that gives me clicking the Post button. 
> 
> So! Enjoy a very emotional chapter! This one is Auguste flavored!!

Laurent’s body led him out of the Regent’s rooms and into the maze of hallways and drawing rooms; the Prince’s movements were sure and proud, his head held high. Laurent felt nothing but shame when he thought about it, how he, a twenty-year-old millennial who had psychological support and who worked hard for that emotional intelligence and stability, had to depend on a _fictional_ , traumatized seventeen-year-old prince’s strength.

The Regent had won the encounter. He’d managed to make Prince Laurent, who Lau thought had nerves of steel, tremble in fear.

He walked into an unlived bedroom and shut the door behind him.

This was what the System had been trying to prepare him for all along, he thought. This was why he had to be a rude son of a bitch to everyone, all the time; not because every single Veretian who he crossed paths with deserved it, but because the real threat was high above him, and he knew Laurent. He had known Prince Laurent and now Laurent was him.

It was so, _so_ scary.

They had stepped into a private alcove. As the System closed Prince Laurent’s Override option and Laurent gained independent movement, he began exploring the place. It was as bare as it could be to make it empty yet livable; every object and decoration had some aesthetic principle of blandness, compared to the rest of the castle, and yet it drowned in warmth.

Laurent had heard people say that walls remembered what was lived in them, and this room’s vibe might just prove it.

 _‘Vibe check!’_ He chuckled softly, tapping at the bed’s post with his index.

He sat at the edge of a bed, looking around, basking in the peaceful quiet, willing his body to relax. The light that came in through the tall, uncovered windows showed strange patterns of dust in the emptiness. Laurent watched it, breathing in and out, his mind disconnecting, giving him a small break from thinking.

He was so tired of thinking.

Laurent let his eyes wander, studying it all carelessly, the carved wooden doors in the closet, the heavy desks, the books still placed in their bookshelves; Laurent was too far away to properly see the titles, but he could make out some letters. An ‘T’ here, an ‘M’ there…

His eyes fell on a portrait, the biggest work still hung on the wall. It was a young man staring directly at the painter. He was handsome and beautiful, with big eyes the color of the ocean, a mouth on the brink of a smile, a youthful softness, barely beyond naivete, permeating the piece.

Laurent watched him ardently. He looked like Auguste.

He looked _a lot_ like Auguste.

Fuck, he’d spent the last 3 or so months completely ignoring the problem, ignoring _Auguste_ , his _brother_ -

It hurt, suddenly and without warning. There was an emptiness in Laurent’s chest, a pressure in his throat, he felt his emotions like open flowers on his skin, sensitive and vulnerable to the softest touch, and seeing an Auguste doppelganger of all things wasn’t helping.

_System?_

**[Greetings, User!]**

The voice seemed too loud in the room and Laurent grimaced.

_Who is he?_

Who is this man who looks so much like my brother, why does he-

**[Answering User: that is the last painting of late Crown Prince Auguste, First of his name. Crown Prince Auguste was Prince Laurent’s older brother. He died at age 25 at the Battle of Marlas.]**

No way.

Just…. No way.

It was too much of a coincidence to be named and look exactly like Prince Laurent, but for him to have a big brother Auguste, just like him? What the fuck. That was too much.

But on the other side, who was this _other_ Auguste? He knew his own Gus, who was goofy, and stupid and liked listening to him talk for hours. But who was Prince Auguste to Prince Laurent?

Were they close? Did they fight a lot? Or were they like Lau and Gus, who needed each other like air, even as adults?

**[Opening Auguste.MP3]**

_What’s that?_

**[File 1 of 306]**

Soft laughter filled Laurent’s head, startling him for a moment.

“Oh, Lau, how did you make such a mess?!” More laughter. “Come here, kitten, let’s get you cleaned up, shall we? Yes, yes, little dear, yes, we must!”

That was Auguste’s voice. That was his brother’s voice.

**[File 2 of 306]**

“Shh, shh, Lau, what’s wrong? Was it a bad dream? Come here, tell me about it, don’t cry, shh.”

**[File 3 of 306]**

“Laurent, what do you have there? Let your big brother see, hm?”

The System kept playing the audios and Laurent simply got more comfortable on the floor, looking up to the painting. He felt just like when he was younger, looking up at Auguste, grasping at his sleeves and jackets and pulling. 

_Gus, Gus!_

**[File 37 of 306]**

“Woohoo! Laurent! Look at you go! You’re a natural at horse riding! I knew it!”

Laurent smiled.

**[File 53 of 306]**

“Come on, Lau, at least read _outside_!”

**[File 229 of 306]**

“Lau, what do you think of women? No, I’m just wondering if you find them pretty, that is all.”

Laurent wasn’t sure how much time he sat there, just listening to Auguste talk. He felt heavy, he felt… Sad. Just sad.

He wanted Auguste; he wanted his brother back. He wanted to go back to his apartment, back to Gus’ stupidly tiny kitchen, and to his Literature classes, and his trashy Friday burgers he’d never admit eating.

He wanted to go home.

He rubbed his eyes harshly, willing himself not to cry. He didn’t want anyone to look at him and know he’d been affected; they’d just assume it was from talking to the Regent, and he wouldn’t correct them. What would he even say? _I’m just homesick for a place that doesn’t exist?_

No. He’d say: _‘I miss my brother’_ and that was just as terrible.

The System spoke up again, finally reaching the end of the files.

**[File 306 of 306]**

“Lau? Laurent… No, Laurent, do not cry, look at me; little brother, look at me. Nothing will happen, I am a good fighter, yes? The best fighter. It’s just like sparring, right? Just like when Jord and I practice Monday morning. I’ll be back before you know I’m gone, go back to sleep. Alright, alright, don’t look at me like that. Come here, give me a proper hug, are you too big to hug your big brother now? Hush now, it’ll be fine, I promise.”

**[Closing Auguste.MP3]**

He promised. _He promised_.

That had to be the Battle of Marlas. Laurent didn’t even know what Marlas _was_ , but Auguste had died. He’d died and that wasn’t okay.

And… Laurent had also died. In the middle of the road, just outside Auguste’s apartment. Right before his brother’s eyes.

Laurent sniffed and an undignified sound clawed out of his throat.

Auguste was _everything_.

Laurent wondered how it had been for Prince Laurent, to ask others what had happened to his big brother. He remembered the confusion of losing his father, back in his old life; had he gone to the Regent like that? Full of uncertainty, feeling abandoned, wanting to be held and cared for.

When Father had died Auguste sat him on his lap, even when he was almost thirteen, and kissed his forehead, and rubbed his arms, and told him how much he loved him.

If he was like that with the Regent too… Gods, this place was such a mess.

He startled when the door opened and Nicaise strode in.

“I knew I’d find you here! You-“ Nicaise paused. “You’re crying.”

Laurent raised his hand quickly to wipe the tears away, cleaning his face the best he could. It’d do him no good to act outside the line.

“No, I-“ he began saying, but stopped when he heard his voice, still thick with emotion. Nicaise closed the door behind him and walked in, he crouched next to Laurent.

“Did Richard make you cry?” He asked in all seriousness and Laurent chuckled breathlessly. _This kid…_ He shook his head.

“He didn’t make me cry,” he said, voice soft. “I came in and I saw…” He trailed off, not sure how to speak. What did Laurent say when he spoke of Auguste? He sneaked a glance at the portrait; did Laurent ever speak of Auguste _at all_?

Fuck, that kid needed therapy. _He_ needed therapy.

Nicaise followed his line of sight and mumbled a soft ‘ _oh’_ when he saw the painting.

“I’m… sorry…”

“Ah, thank you?” Laurent half answered. Was that the right thing to say?

“I didn’t know he was so… Handsome?” Laurent sniffled and chuckled at Nicaise’s uncertain tone.

“Yes, quite.” He could see his own brother getting swarmed by girls at parties, always giggling around him, twirling their hair. _Chick magnet_ , his friends called him.

“They say you want to kill him,” Nicaise said after a moment, voice hushed.

“Him?”

“Damianos of Akielos,” Nicaise whispered. “The _Princekiller_.”

_Wait, what?_

**PING!**

**[Communication is important! Please chose one of the following:**

  1. **I do. He took… everything I had. He- It was his fault; all that has ever gone wrong in my life, it is his fault. I will kill him.**
  2. **Don’t ever say that name in my presence, Nicaise. I cannot stand it.**
  3. ***Cry***



**We inform User that he can chose to spend 220 points to use a Scenario Pusher.]**

_What’s a scenario pusher?_

**[Answering User: a small help for the User!]**

_…Vague as shit._

_Fine, give me the pusher thing._

**[Opening Scenario Pusher. OOC Restraints are off. Locking Override option.**

**Opening missing scenes from The Darkened Prince of Akielos:**

**-Damianos held his sword firmly, looking ahead, feeling his father’s words wash over his broad shoulders. He hoped this battle was as glorious as it promised. (…)**

**-Auguste was a sun among the deep blue of his army’s uniform. He was older, more experienced, but Damianos knew he was better. He had to be, to end this war in favor of his people. (…)**

**-Auguste side stepped to save himself from Damianos’ sword but it was too late; the iron went straight into his heart, coming out the other way. Damianos was so strong, Prince Auguste was pushed back, his own sword falling from his hands. (…)**

**-He fell to the ground and his mouth still spoke, a last breath, someone’s name. Damianos did not see this, he was looking at the audience around them.**

**“Crown Prince Auguste is dead!” A voice rang out. “Damianos stands victorious!”**

**Closing missing scenes.**

**Wishing User good luck!]**

_Oh, God, no. No, no, no- No!_

Not _this_.

His eyes swelled with tears again and Nicaise leaned in, his hands fluttering around Laurent uselessly.

“No, don’t cry, don’t cry! Laurent, _please_ don’t cry!”

_No, Lau, don’t cry, look at me._

Laurent put his hands over his eyes, trying to stop the tears unsuccessfully, as the new reality sank in: Damianos, Laurent’s favorite character, the best protagonist ever, proudly blackened, had killed Auguste. In his haste to end the fight, to win, to make his family proud of him, he had reached out and clumsily crushed a life that was far away from him.

Damianos had killed Auguste, and so _Prince_ Laurent wanted to kill him. To _hurt_ him. Have him raped, have him hit and slapped and dragged around, have him cut away from all safety and care and love, just like _he_ had been, without the light that was his brother.

He could feel it in him as well. If someone hurt Auguste… Laurent, and _Prince Laurent_ by defect, were capable of anything, but it was him who had done it; he had decided how he wanted to enact revenge and he had. He destroyed Damianos.

And then, Damianos killed him.

Laurent felt sick remembering what had happened: Laurent, alone in his rooms, being cornered by a warrior king, getting stabbed with a stray knife Damianos had managed to steal. Dying cold and overpowered on the floor, Damianos’ figure looming over him.

‘ _This is what you deserve_.’ Damianos had said in the book. And Prince Laurent died.

Laurent had cheered when he read it.

It had been fair; now it was cold blooded.

Damianos and Laurent had murdered each other’s spirit, both angry and ravenous and poisonous.

 _Ouroboros_ , Laurent thought, uselessly. The snake that eats its own tail, forever pained.

He was still crying, Nicaise hovering around him. Fuck, he just kept frightening him so much. He had the emotional stability of an orphaned goat. Which he was. Not a goat, an orphan. Like, twice over. _Fuck!_

What was he even supposed to do? He knew new shit now, he understood, hell, he _wanted_ Damianos to pay! What the fuck, Darkened Prince?! That was _my brother_!

But-

He wasn’t, was he? Gus, Lau’s Gus, was fine; probably sad as fuck because his little brother got run over, but he was alive and had a roof over his head. Prince Auguste was dead, but Gus was fine and safe, far away from Vere and Damianos and horrible death plots.

Lau was not Prince Laurent, that much he knew about himself. Maybe they were supposed to be the same person on the bases, but they were different, each shaped by their own experiences. Laurent had never lost Auguste, never been raped, never been under danger of assassination. Laurent might have learned to ride a horse when he was seven, but Lau had a therapist and professional emotional support. Beat that, Snake Prince.

This was ‘The Darkened Prince of Akielos’, and yeah, maybe it paralleled his life in some way, but it was _not_ his life. For him, this story had been only one of many; as much as he’d loved it, he had read a hundred books before, and, had he lived, he would have read a thousand more. What was Damianos to him but a nice looking fanart to put as a wallpaper on his overpriced iPhone?

And the System has said ‘ _fix it_ ’, hadn’t it? In that first conversation, where it explained it all for Laurent.

He took a shaky breath, calming down; he could fix some of the book’s shit. He would, first of all, ensure his life. No more dying for Prince Laurent, no, sir. Then he would keep Nicaise safe, and…

Take the throne, he guessed? He had to stop his Uncle, that was clear; and now he had that letter, he just needed more time to get the Regent off his damn back and get some proper evidence and have him arrested? Or beheaded? What was the law?

It didn’t matter, as long as he was far away from power and Laurent could finally… What, be a king? Oh, _God_ , he had to be a king.

Be a king and sign treaties, and greet people, and make sure no one went hungry.

 _Fuck_. But in a positive way? What would his therapist say? ‘ _Deep breaths, small steps_ ,’ or some helpful mantra for his daily life. ‘ _Take it easy but take it.’_

He took a deep breath. _In._

_Out._

First step: _Nicaise_.

. . .

Nicaise had stared at the unblinking Laurent in horror. He’d never seen Laurent stay quiet for so long. He didn’t do anything, he just cried. _Silently_.

Did he kill him? Richard would be happy if he did, but he didn’t want Laurent to die, especially not from the shock of being asked a single question.

Laurent deserved to die a dramatic death that people would talk about for ages, like falling from the stairs as he ran behind his one and only true love, like in the plays Richard took him to see sometimes.

And then Laurent turned, looked at him with the saddest eyes he’d ever seen and smiled. It wasn’t a happy smile, it really wasn’t, it was just sad.

“War is difficult,” he said, gesturing Nicaise to sit down. He decided he’d do it, it was worth it, if only to hear Laurent talk openly. “I hate that Auguste died, and I hated… Damianos for a long time. I wanted to make him pay, make him suffer.”

Nicaise attempted to think about it from Laurent’s perspective, but it was hard. Nicaise didn’t have a big brother, someone older than him, to take care of him and accompany him, someone to be there when he got nightmare, maybe. Not Richard. Richard didn’t like it when he woke up in the middle of the night, when he felt like his heart was going to explode out of his chest.

What would he feel if Richard died? Sadness? Relief?

“I wanted fate to give me Damianos in a silver platter,” Laurent said with a tired smirk. “For me to impart justice.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in fate,” Nicaise said. He’d heard Laurent say so to a visiting Lord when he’d just arrived. It was one of the first times he’d ever seen the Crown Prince, it had been so exciting, back then, to see all the lights and parties.

To see the young prince everyone talked about in the streets, with his famous golden hair and precious blue eyes. Nicaise also had blue eyes, but they were never compared to stars or oceans. What did that feel like, for people to talk about you like that?

“I don’t.” Laurent said, and sighed. “Whatever I want, I’m going to need to work to get it, and if so, is it worth it to spend my every thought hating someone who doesn’t even know I exist? I don’t want to waste important time of my life in hating him. It’s unproductive. So, I won’t. I’ll work on it.”

It amazed Nicaise how Laurent could do things like that. He simply… would work on it, no doubts. He told Nicaise over and over again, what he didn’t want to happen wouldn’t happen. Laurent was really smart, that was why Richard was always so angry at him.

Laurent knew a lot, and he worked a lot. And he kept his promises.

He had gone for Nicaise when he had been caught with the letter, and then he played with him, and gave him a nice breakfast. Richard never did all that.

Laurent was… kind of boring, always in his letters and his books and always thinking. But he was nice. That was enough.

Nicaise decided, he liked Laurent, he’d stay with Laurent, even if it made Richard hate him and not welcome him back ever. He didn’t care about not getting more jewels and sex if Laurent kept taking care of him like this.

“Good,” he told Laurent. “You’re too good to be thinking about a savage like that.”

Laurent laughed. He’d never heard a laugh like that, so genuinely happy. People faked their laughs a lot in Vere.

“The proper word is barbarian,” Laurent said.

. . .

**PING!**

**[Congratulations to User for completing the “Siblings Make Good Allies” Arc successfully!**

**You’ve won 1,000 points! Keep up the good work!]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading! Extra kudos are appreciated, comments are valued beyond compare! To last chapter's comments that I haven't answered, I will answer! Soon!! I really like reading them!! Thank you!! 
> 
> To those who cared, my pink hair looks COOL AS SHIT（☆ω☆*）  
> Drop by my twt to either see a pic or yell at me about them boys @AnielkaEla!


	5. Are You Receiving Love Letters? Are You A Member Of The Royal Family? Here's Why You Should Worry!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY HOLIDAYS ONE AND ALL   
> MY JOB COMPUTER IS FAILING AND I CAN'T DO SHIT ABOUT IT so have another chapter!   
> I'm sowwy I made you cwy with the wast chwaptew uwu This one's better! It's kinda short, but the next one is longer (and I might publish two chapters in one if you'd like), and after that we get RIGHT ON with the ACTION

As months passed, Laurent’s days became always the same: wake up, breakfast with Nicaise, playing mind games with the Regent through the Court’s passive aggressiveness, hitting his head against a wall, listening to Nicaise practice his recitations and math as he wrote letters, sleep.

Apparently, one of Prince Laurent’s numerous talents that Laurent had side-inherited was multitasking. 

“Set the frozen city ablaze, and its kisses and its gifts-“ Nicaise drawled out from where he was sprawled on the floor, and Laurent huffed. “ _What_?”

“Set the frozen _heart_ ablaze, leave the city and its gifts, let none but mine arms hold you close, let the skyline see our kiss.” Laurent corrected. “That’s the verse; what are those tutors doing with their time that they do not teach you-“

“Laurent, it’s so boooooring,” Nicaise whined and Laurent rolled his eyes.

“What do you want me to do about it?”

“Ban poetry when you’re the king.”

Laurent turned away from his desk to look at Nicaise with furrowed brows and a sneer; it made Nicaise laugh, high and pretty.

“I will _not_ ban poetry,” Laurent tried on his snobbiest voice so far. “I shall hold feasts and monthly parties dedicated in their entirety to their presentation.”

“Just to annoy me?” Nicaise sat up crossing his legs and held his ankles, giving himself an air of innocence. Manipulative little brat. Laurent adored him.

“Just to annoy you,” he kept a serious tone, but Nicaise laughed again. He stood up and walked over to Laurent, leaning into his shoulder to look into the desk.

“What are you doing?”

“Writing letters.”

“You’re always writing letters.”

“Yes, I am. An important part of being a prince is communicating with others.” Laurent had been Class President every year in high school, he could absolutely do this, sent letters and shit; it didn’t mean he liked spending most of his evenings looming into papers to remind people to do their damn jobs, but it wasn’t his most difficult task.

He never had to send a letter to Acquitart, though. Acquitart was a grace from every god and he was thrilled it existed.

The courting letters didn’t stop either, they just changed their writers. Laurent received invitations from left and right, some even mentioning having spoken to his Uncle, and making deals over land and power.

Like Laurent needed more land and power. He was the prince, for god’s sake. He’d rule over all of them.

“Boring,” Nicaise said again.

“Quite,” Laurent sighed.

“Tell me about the fun parts?” Laurent squinted at him. 

“You just want gossip.”

“ _Please_ , tell me about it?”

“This one,” he pointed at one particular paper. “It’s from Patras. Prince Torgeir has just been crowned and sends _warmest regards_.”

“He wants to marry you.”

“Don’t be silly, of course not. He needs heirs and I will not give him any. His younger brother though…” He picked up another letter and waved it. Nicaise gasped in delight when Laurent gave it to him, opened it with haste, and began reading a passage out loud.

“Most esteemed Prince Laurent, poets from all around the world compare your looks to the Maiden Moon, but what insult should befall you, the Pale Maiden is already sick and pale with grief, that you, my Prince, are far more fair than she,” Nicaise frowned. “That’s a poem. He copied a poem. I read that with Miss Adeline the other day.”

Laurent nodded.

“Let’s make a deal,” he said. “I will let you read all the courting letters I receive if you can successfully point out which ones have plagiarized love poems and sonnets.”

“Can we do it outside? In the garden?” Laurent shrugged in a very non-princely manner.

“I don’t see why not.” It was not like it would negatively impact his reputation to have his ward read his numerous love letters for him; or, more correctly, it _would_ negatively impact it, but in the way he needed it to.

He gave Nicaise a box filled to the brim with colorful cards and scrolls, some adorned with dried flowers, some still scented with the rose and lilies’ oils. Laurent kept forgetting to order some of those for himself to do some fancy self-care.

They walked deep into the gardens, courtiers bowing as they walked past them, pets whispering to each other in jealousy. Nicaise seemed to enjoy the attention, keeping his head high as dozens of eyes followed him through bushes.

They sat on a stone bench, sharing each other’s space. Laurent was thankful for the change of scenery while still maintaining his privacy; the System remained blissfully quiet, which meant that he was doing things pretty well, and he wanted to keep it that way. No spilling secrets, no sir.

Laurent had brought with him a single book, to read and review. The shared history with Vask, written by the last fifty-something ambassadors with the Vaskian Empire.

Laurent had only a vague idea of where Vask was, who they were; in ‘ _The Darkened Prince of Akielos’_ , Vaskians were mentioned only once, in a scene Laurent had all but skipped. Damianos, on the run from Vere, ran into a group of warrior women, strong enough to rival him. Laurent had perked up at the idea of powerful women, a matriarchal society, but it hadn’t gone into depth beyond Damianos going into the ladies’ own depths.

That had been a fan favorite chapter for many; the start of Damianos’ reputation as a stud, a handsome rogue Akielon going back home. The Vaskians had happily offered Damianos his help in exchange for him sharing the bed of some of the women; Damianos had stayed there three nights and gotten his fair share of Vaskian pussy.

 _Good for him_ , Laurent had thought, as he completely skipped the descriptions of the Vaskians moist privates as he focused on the one line about Damianos’ beefy, beefy arms.

But this mattered because it was the start of what Laurent hoped was the unveiling of one of the most important political mysteries: was Damianos right to assume that Vere paid off the Vaskian raiders? It wasn’t solved in the book, but if Laurent could find out the truth, he could correct the corruption, and in making the world a little more just, he’d make Damianos’ travel back easier.

It would, of course, be easier to just sit with the _current_ ambassador, but he honestly had no idea who they were and whether they were siding with the Regent or not.

Next to him, Nicaise snickered.

“Mh?” He asked softly.

“The Sun has taken its shine from your you, lovely prince turned caged-songbird,” he read. “That’s so stupid.”

“Who wrote that?” Laurent asked and Nicaise searched for the name.

“Manon of Fortaine,” Nicaise’s eyes widened. “That’s Guion’s son!”

“Guion’s _third_ son,” Laurent added. He’d seen the man, he was just a couple of years older than him, quite handsome and without pets at the moment. He was barely tolerable, and Laurent gagged at the idea of marrying him. There’d be very few things that would make him want to marry the son of a man so colluded with the Regent. If he married any son of Guion, he’d probably not even make it to the marriage bed. He’d drink poisoned wine at the wedding feast, most likely.

 _No thanks, Manon_. He went back to his letter. Nicaise stayed on the topic.

“You’re not marrying him.”

“No.” Laurent swallowed his desire to say ‘ _nop’_ and pop the p.

“Because that’d be a bad idea.”

“Yes.”

“Because he’d sell you to Akielos?”

“No one can sell me to Akielos,” he said.

“But he could send you far, far away.”

“He couldn’t keep me in Fortaine if he wanted,” Laurent smirked, tracing the shape of the words of his letter with a finger. “I am a Prince; even if I married down, I’d still be the authority.”

Nicaise nodded seriously.

“You’d get the leg up.”

“That’s crass, Nicaise, please do not use those words with or about me.” He said. “And it doesn’t work like that.”

“You’d let _Manon of Fortaine_ spread your legs?!” Nicaise looked at him in horror as he pressed the letter to his chest.

“Being on the _receiving_ end is not the end of the world, Nicaise, and it is not a sign of weakness, either. It is simply a choice of preference. And that is _not_ the point; me marrying Manon of Fortaine would not make me less of a Prince, it would only set me in a bad position with Uncle, as he and Guion are close, and I’d be forced to bend my decisions on account of my husband’s family. It’d put me at a political disadvantage, nothing more.”

“What would you need to not have to do what your husband told you?” Laurent thought about it.

“Supporters in court.”

“Oh.” Nicaise mussed over this. “You need your own friends.” Laurent looked at Nicaise with a bewildered expression. “If you had friends in the Court, they’d support you and not Richard, right? You wouldn’t have those “political disadvantages” and you could do whatever you wanted.”

“I- Yes. I need friends and allies in Court to ensure certain authority over my Uncle’s own.”

Nicaise nodded, seemingly satisfied with these answers.

“I am your friend,” he said. “You need my help.” Laurent shook his head.

“No-“

“ _Yes_ ,” Nicaise stressed. “You let me stay with you and I help you with all the mean things Richard can do, so I am your friend.”

Laurent looked up to the sky, searching for ways to explain it; Nicaise didn’t fit in the “allies” computer folder because Laurent couldn’t put him there. He was _more_.

“You are different,” he said. “I fix things _for_ _you_ , not with your help.”

“Like a dad?” Nicaise mocked, and Laurent shook his head. Laurent didn’t feel like a dad when he was around Nicaise, it felt more like- “A brother?” Nicaise asked, sounding less offended. 

Laurent blinked at the realization and nodded, and Nicaise leaned into him slowly. Laurent thought of himself, sitting under Auguste’s painting, looking up to him, believing he hung the stars in the sky. Could he try to be that for Nicaise?

“Yes,” he raised his hand and slowly brought it to Nicaise’s head, threading his fingers through the curls. “Yes, like a big brother.”

Nicaise squirmed in place to get comfortable again, opening another letter. He started reading again, and Laurent couldn’t breathe from both the weight and the shock. He had a cute little brother now.

Oh, fuck. Oh, wow.

A little brother to tease and play with, to squeeze his cheeks and slide him desserts. _Yes, yes, yes_!

He closed his eyes, letting his head drop on the top of Nicaise’s head.

**PING!**

**[+200 points for Found Family Trope!]**

Laurent snickered.

. . .

The next day, Nicaise dragged a chair to sit at Laurent’s side, pushing the paperwork to make space.

“Can I help you?” Laurent asked as he stared at him over the towers of paper.

“I’m going to work too, don’t bother me.”

“Working on what?”

“I’m writing letters,” he said, imitating the snobbish tone Laurent used. 

“Oh? To whom, may I ask?”

“You may.” He raised his nose, proudly. They stayed quiet until Laurent asked again biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling too wide.

“To whom are you writing, Nicaise?”

“I am writing to Aimeric of Fortaine.”

“Why?”

“I am making friends and allies,” he smirked mischievously. He looked like a little fairy, Laurent thought. The dangerous kind.

“He’s older than you, is he not?”

“So?”

“Can you even write?” He teased, going back to his letters.

“You’re so mean,” Nicaise drawled, grabbing a piece of paper. “I can write enough.”

“Let me see it when you’re done, I’ll proof-read it,” Laurent said and Nicaise made an affirming sound.

. . .

Aimeric of Fortaine,

My name is Nicaise and I live in Arles with the Prince and Regent.

I am seven years old and I am starting to write important letters,

and I want to correspond with you.

We can be friends and allies.

Yours sincerely,

Nicaise of Arles.

. . .

Nicaise of Arles,

Thank you for your letter,

I look forward to having friends in the capital.

Fortaine can be very, very boring, especially so in the summer.

If you can forgive my curiosity, I had heard you traded being the Regent’s pet to being the Prince’s ward, how did you come to that?

How is the Prince like? My brother Manon says he is very beautiful.

Yours sincerely,

Aimeric of Fortaine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you get all my Shakespeare references?? I'm a nerd, I know   
> I'll ask again: the next chapter is 5k, what would y'all rather read, 5k or 7.8k? I'm leaning towards the two-in-one option, but I thought to ask!   
> Thank you so much for reading!!!   
> As always, I'd be delighted to talk on Twitter @AnielkaEla!


	6. 12 Ways Your Bodyguard Might Be Taking Too Much of Your Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY CW // rape mention, descriptive attempted rape, descriptive murder in self-defense, canon typical violence and aggressions
> 
> i am hating this week! work is killing me and i haven't written a single word. I tried to edit this and the more i read it the more incoherent it seemed to me, so if you see something, say something but for continuity mistakes and stuff  
> Please enjoy a slightly longer chapter! ITS ABOUT TO GO DOWN

It must have seemed Laurent was up to something because the Regent was up to something.

But Laurent was a little busy learning a million things to actually plan to overthrow his abusive not-Uncle from the government, whatever the man himself thought. The last months had been spent sitting down in his desk, in the library, basically, any horizontal surface to read and memorize laws, trade routes and their advantages, treaties with countries, who was friend or foe of the country. The System itself forbade anything else; Laurent couldn’t even start thinking about how to get rid of the Regent before it was blaring alarms for trying to hurry an arc along.

But he was being called to see him again, now in front of the Court.

This should be fun.

He left Nicaise in his rooms along with Jord. The kid seemed to like him better, anyway, though Laurent believed it had to do with the fact that Jord has the patience of a Fucking Saint, and could handle everything Nicaise threw at him, both physically and metaphorically. He’d take Orlant, just for protocol.

They walked in together, Laurent sitting on the Regent’s side, with Orlant standing behind him.

“Let us begin,” said the Regent when everyone was, at last, in their places. They had all donned their pets and lovers, finally looking like a bunch of politics. Laurent wanted to huff at the lack of women in the hall; only one lady was sitting, just a few seats away from the Regent.

_System, who is she?_

**[Greetings, User! That is Lady Vannes.]**

_Can I talk to her?_

**[User is free to do as he wishes!]**

Laurent made a mental note to have tea with her, find out what her motivations were. He’d like the hall to stop looking like the American Senate, and she would be key.

“I have gathered the Council because I worry,” the Regent said. “I worry about my nephew’s life.”

Only sheer willpower and the System’s teachings kept Laurent from laughing. He wondered how many councilmembers actually believed him and how many knew their Regents aspirations.

“Laurent,” he turned to him. “I know you enjoy your independence, you always have, ever since…” He trailed off, and Laurent cocked his head.

“Since Marlas,” the Regent said at the end, and a wave of sighs flowed through the room. It seemed the general public still held Prince Auguste dearly in their hearts and would not take any mention of him lightly. Laurent felt the same way. “I, no, _we_ have done our best to respect your wishes: your voluntary isolation from the court and its ways, taking my pet into your household, your _manners_. But your life is not to be bet with, Laurent. Three guards are not enough to keep you safe, and I fear there may be attempts on it.”

Laurent kept his eyes forward to avoid rolling them.

**PING!**

**[Communication is important! Please choose from the following options:**

  1. **Why? Do you intend on poisoning me again, Uncle?**
  2. ***laugh***
  3. **What is your proposal, Uncle?]**



“What is your proposal, then?” Laurent asked. The Regent made a sign to the guards at the door, who opened them to allow two men in.

“I wish you to be accompanied every moment of the day until we have increased security in our walls.” He waved at the men and Laurent studied them carefully.

They were bears but not the sexy kind. Big, ugly, incredibly buff. Muscles and thick skin covered in scars like they’d fought a blender and the blender had won.

Laurent swallowed his disgust.

**PING!**

**[Please chose one of the following options:**

  1. **And who may these gentlemen be?**
  2. ***burst out laughing***
  3. **Uncle, what the fuck?]**



Laurent opened his mouth, but the Regent beat him to speak.

“These two gentlemen have been carefully chosen from a group of soldiers willing to lay their lives for their Prince. The Deschiens family has always been loyal to us, and the two heirs to its legacy now lay their lives to their Prince’s feet.”

_Soldiers my ass, where the fuck did you get these two, the circle of Hell where you reconnect with your high school bullies?_

“My Prince, if I may,” the oldest looking of the two brothers, the least ugly, spoke directly at him. Laurent’s mouth was rigid with antipathy. “My name is Garion Deschiens, my brother Govart and I have long since looked up to His Highness. We humbly lay our services at his feet, for him to do as he pleases.”

Laurent studied the man, carefully going from head to toe, hoping to see something that could help him reject them; perhaps a bloodied sleeve, a tattoo that said ‘ _I am not to trust’_ or ‘ _I have been known to kill people’_. There was nothing.

“How much time do I have to think about this, Uncle?” He asked, proud of his uncaring tone.

“I had hoped you’d take them immediately, Laurent. Please, ease my mind.”

 _Asshole fucker, son a thrice fucked one-legged badger_.

“Of course, Uncle.” The Regent smiled and Laurent decided enough was enough. “If I may be excused, I have pressing matters.”

“Of course, Laurent,” the Regent said, benevolent. “We know how hard you work.”

Laurent stood up and bowed, while mentally choking the son of a bitch. Orlant walked behind him, close enough that Laurent could feel his tension bleed into his shoulders.

 _Me too, Orlant, me too_.

Laurent was already by the door when he realized the two men were still standing at the center of the room.

He raised an eyebrow like a brat.

“We leave with His Highness,” Orlant said to the Deschiens brothers in a condescending tone. Laurent could have kissed him.

Garion and Govart hurried behind them; Laurent was powerwalking as fast as he could, channeling his inner caffeinated runway model to get to his rooms.

He opened the doors with a bang, making Jord and Nicaise, who were playing backgammon on the floor, jump.

“Laurent!” Nicaise chirped, face lighting up before guarding itself as he looked behind him. Laurent ignored him.

“Jord,” he called. “These men have been anointed by my Uncle as my full-time bodyguards.”

He stared at Jord in what he hoped could be read as a mental screech. _Jord, you’re my only hope, do something_. He eyed the men warily, to Laurent’s joy.

“Names,” he ordered.

“Garion Deschiens, boss,” the oldest called. “And my brother, Govart. We truly are honored to-“ Jord raised a hand to cut them off.

“Your Highness?” He asked. _Oh, sweet, dear Jord, what did I ever do to deserve you?_

“We shall comply.” _Don’t worry, Jord, I have not lost my brain cells. I, too, hate them and want them gone_. “Until further notice, Nicaise will be staying in _other_ rooms and Orlant with him. I want these men capacitated and ready to serve by tomorrow morning. Use the time as you see fit,” he told his captain.

Nicaise reached for him and grabbed his coat.

“Laurent,” he whined.

“In a moment, Nicaise,” he hushed him, but placed a hand on his shoulder, in what he hoped could be a comforting gesture. He turned to the brothers. “Listen carefully. I have rules and I expect them to be followed to the letter; you cannot come into my rooms until I have explicitly said so, you shall stay at the doors while I work inside. The doors stay closed. I don’t want to hear your voices. Ever. When I walk, stay at least two steps behind. Do not ever touch me.” He spoke firmly but without inflection. As he laid out the rules, the men began to frown.

They wanted an easy job, enjoying all the royal life had to give? Well, wrong place.

“Laurent,” Nicaise called again.

“I said, _in a moment_ , Nicaise. You do not get breaks, you do not participate in gossip, and you do not participate in fucking around. If I hear from anyone that either of you has slept in someone else’s bed but your own, I will release you of your services. I get up at seven, breakfast comes at eight. Questions?”

“None, your Highness,” Garion said and Laurent nodded.

“Good. Leave.” Garion, Govart, and Jord left. Orlant turned but Laurent called him back. “Not you, Orlant.” 

As soon as the door shut, Nicaise was all in Laurent’s body, grabbing fistfuls of his dress shirt.

“Laurent, no, no, no, Laurent, you promised!” He whined, looking up and pulling down, like an unruly kitten.

“I promised to take care of you and that is exactly what I am doing,” he said firmly. “Orlant, get Nicaise’s clothes.”

Orlant nodded. He came and went from closet to closet, opening and closing doors, choosing clean clothes, and putting them in different bags. 

“Laurent!” Laurent squatted down to look directly into Nicaise’s eyes.

“Look at me and listen. My Uncle sent these men,” he whispered. “Do you think they’re nice men who will obey me and play nice?”

Nicaise shook his head, pouting.

“Do you think they are safe to be around?”

Another shake.

“I know I promised you could stay here,” he said as softly as he could. “But it is much more important that you stay safe. I’m sending you to Auguste’s room with Orlant.”

“And you?” Nicaise asked.

“I have Jord with me,” Laurent answered. “And I can defend myself if need be.” In theory, of course. He hadn’t tried to pick up a sword, for fear that he’d hurt himself.

“Your Highness,” Orlant called. Laurent could see the strange position he was in; him, the castle’s frigid bitch prince, holding a child close, whispering in his ear after said kid had made a tantrum for not being able to sleep in the same room.

 _Orlant, please don’t think too badly of me_.

“I have Nicaise’s belongings.”

“You are to stay with him in my brother’s rooms.” Orlant nodded. “Go with him,” he told Nicaise, who peeled slowly off of him.

Before letting go of his hand, he leaned in quickly and kissed Laurent on the cheek. He took Orlant’s hand, who held him back firmly.

“We take our leave, your Highness.”

“Send Jord in,” he ordered.

. . .

Orlant walked out of the room, still shaken by his Prince’s intensity. He hadn’t heard all Prince Laurent had told Nicaise, but it seemed serious. Prince Laurent was always serious these days; he had turned into sharp lines and bite, as well as beauty. He pitied him, in a way. With a face like that, along with his mind and his position, he never got a minute’s rest.

“He calls for you,” he told Jord, who nodded and walked in. The two new men made their way to go behind him but Orlant stopped them. “Not you.”

By his side, Nicaise gripped his hand harder. Was he frightened?

Orlant stood straighter, trying to appear as tall and buff as these thugs. Who fucking knew where the Regent had picked up these mutts? Prison, at best. The slums, at worst.

The taller man, the older brother, turned to Nicaise and smiled.

“Hello, little boy.”

“If you try to fuck me, Laurent will cut your hands, your balls, and your head, and give them to me,” he said, in that sweet voice of his. Garion and Govart both backed off in shock. “Did I surprise you?” He cocked his head; it was a specialty of his, to look innocent and have the mouth of a whore. He seemed to be learning from Prince Laurent himself. “Don’t fucking look at me.” He hissed.

Garion looked at Orlant like he expected him to defend him from the seven-year-old.

Well, tough luck. If Nicaise wanted to tear the fake guards apart, Orlant would ask for canapés and cheer him on, just like he did with his Highness.

Orlant led Nicaise through the halls until they reached Price Auguste’s rooms. He felt his chest tighten; the place looked just like it had, all those years ago. No one had even changed the style of the sheets, pale blue and woolen covers. No embroidery.

Auguste had always been pragmatic.

Nicaise sat on the bed while he put the clothes away, kicking his legs softly. He seemed taken by Prince Auguste’s painting.

“You knew him?” Nicaise asked.

“Prince Auguste?” Nicaise nodded. “I did, but not as well as Jord.”

“Did he love Laurent?” Orlant looked at the kid. He was staring back; his sapphire blue eyes were set on him like a predator.

“Like his own life.” He answered. “He would do anything for him; give him the Moon if he asked.” 

He could see it, and he smiled: tiny, frail-looking Laurent, with his chin-length blond hair, finer than all the gold in the country, covered in silks and wools, reaching up for Auguste, and him leaning down and covering his face with kisses.

When Laurent had turned eleven, he’d wanted to mimic Auguste in everything; he’d begged for permission to get his ears pierced, and he’d held Auguste’s hand when they did it. He’d cried, but he’d smiled the brightest with his new diamond earrings. Auguste lent him all his jewels, the few he used, and bought him even more. They were in a carved mahogany box, Orlant knew. He’d seen it as he packed Nicaise’s belongings away.

Prince Laurent hadn’t worn earrings since Prince Auguste died. 

“How did he die? Where you there?”

“You don’t want to hear about the war,” Orlant stated but Nicaise snorted.

“Tell me as a bedtime story.”

“The Prince wouldn’t approve.”

“Laurent has strange ideas,” he shrugged but didn’t deny it. “We play backgammon before sleep, but we left it back at the room.”

Orlant thought of going back to get it, but he didn’t want to leave Nicaise alone.

“Take off your shoes and get into bed,” he conceded. “I’ll tell you.”

Nicaise obeyed and got under the covers, pulled them over his chest; laid his pretty face against the pillows. Orlant thought he looked like he belonged; he looked like he could be Prince Laurent’s younger brother, and often acted like.

He thought Nicaise would like that thought. As would the Prince.

“Marlas was a very important battle, do you know why?”

“Don’t patronize me, Orlant,” Nicaise rolled his eyes. “I am studying.”

“Ah, yes, your education is what Prince Laurent is spending several ingots of gold per month. I hope you’re learning a lot.”

“I am!”

“Can you even recite?”

“I can! Stop distracting me and tell me the story!”

“Fine, fine. I was part of Prince Auguste’s guard.”

“Like you are in Laurent’s?”

“Don’t interrupt me. Yes, like the Prince’s guard but Prince Auguste’s. We had been at war for a year and a half then, and just short of eight months of actual soldier movement. The Akielons are fierce warriors, they do not stop until they fall dead. They said that Damianos himself refused but the barest medicine, that he got on his horse for battle without bandages over sewn injuries. A friend of mine claimed that the bastard Kastor rode naked,” he chuckled before feeling his mood darken. “We were not winning; the soldiers were unmotivated; they were frightened. We were taking lots of risks, things we’d never done before.”

“Not you?”

“Not us,” Orlant said. “Prince Auguste was very good at keeping the morale high. We all wanted to fight alongside him, help him defeat the barbarians.”

“Was Laurent there?”

“In the back, he was. He was just a little older than you,” he estimated. “Maybe a few years. He was a better strategist than he was a fighter, but he went anyway. He was always being brave for Prince Auguste. He wasn’t the only one asking his brother not to fight Damianos, his generals also advised against it. Damianos was a giant and a beast; the floor shook when he walked. Prince Auguste was lighter on his feet, but- Have you heard thunder, Nicaise?”

A nod.

“Damianos is that. Thunder and fire. He screamed when he attacked; Prince Auguste defended himself, but… All it took was just a second. He was disarmed.”

“Disgusting barbarian,” Nicaise hissed but Orlant shook his head. He knew what Nicaise was thinking: that Damianos had struck their golden treasure while he was down, like a coward, but that had not been the case.

“No. He told the Prince to pick it up again; but Damianos was stronger, at the end. But they were at it for hours on end. It could have been either of them winning.”

“But he died. He made Laurent sad. Laurent says that nothing has made him as sad as living without Auguste.”

 _Oh, stars_ , Orlant thought. _Laurent talked about it._ He was relieved, in a sense; they all thought Laurent had just kept it inside, letting it fester. Like poison, darkening his mind and heart. And Prince Laurent was already too much of a viper for that to be salvageable.

“Do you hate Damianos?” Nicaise asked.

“Yes,” said Orlant without hesitation. “He killed my friend and my Prince.”

“Prince-killer,” he nodded; then, he clapped. “Well! Thank you for the story. You can go sleep on the sofa.”

Orlant looked up at the ceiling. _Stars give me patience_.

“Aye, aye, little lord,” he sighed.

He didn’t miss the way Nicaise hugged the pillows to him to sleep, but he told himself he’d feel more tenderness for the kid if his feet weren’t hanging off into cold air. 

. . .

Garion was fucking annoying and Laurent deserved a bajillion points for not snapping and murdering him in cold blood.

Not that they didn’t follow his orders, they knew better; no, it was the _staring_. Back in his other life, Laurent was a man in a world of men. He didn’t get harassed, not to a woman’s extent; he got a share of creeps, but this was beyond infuriating.

Both brothers stared, and stared, and stared, and there was something in their eyes that promised trouble. Laurent had made Jord accompany them all day and it had been barely enough. He had to keep himself from jumping behind Jord and crying ‘ _make them stop_!’.

Govart’s eyes were the wandering kind. Laurent wore clothes over his whole body, not a sliver of skin uncovered; he had thought that covering his wrists had been a little too ‘ _Victorian nun’_ aesthetic but he understood now why Prince Laurent did it.

But where Govart spent too much time trying to guess the size of his dick over his clothes, Garion just made comments; complimented his hair, his embroidered jackets, his eyes. His _hands_ , what the Fuck.

“His Highness has the loveliest fingers,” he had said during breakfast, just loud enough for Laurent to hear.

“I will claw out your eyes,” he threatened and Garion had the gall to laugh. Fucker.

When he first arrived, Laurent had found a dagger under his mattress, and now he had taken to carrying it with him to wherever he went and placed it under his pillow as he slept. The metal warmed up as he held it, like it was alive under his fingers.

Laurent hated and loved it.

The System was surprisingly quiet, only beeping a few points when he earned them, not even bothering to greet him like he usually did. It worked like shit and Laurent was anxious about it. He didn’t know anything about these men, the Deschiens bothers. Were they also in The Darkened Prince of Akielos? Were they friends or foes?

_System, please call back! I hate you but I need you!_

“ _Nec possum tecum vivere, nec sine te_ ,” he muttered to himself, like the absolute literature nerd he was. But if he couldn’t do over the top, Hamlet-like monologues as he played a karma-punished prince, then what, _pray tell_ , was the fucking point?

He was a dramatic gay and by god they would all know it. As soon as he freed himself from the shackles of the point-based System, evaded assassination, turned 21 to inherit the throne, and overthrew his Uncle, it was _over_ for them Veretian hoes.

“Your Highness?” Govart leaned in, breathing into his neck. Laurent shivered; his hair was tickling him.

“It’s nothing,” he said.

“It cannot be nothing,” Garion also leaned in, and Laurent made fists so tight he could feel himself shake. “His Highness is thinking _deep_ and _long_ , may we know wh-“

“Two steps,” Laurent interrupted.

“Your Highness?”

“You’re two steps too close,” Laurent elbowed them both in the groin. It was the most he could do without incurring the wrath of the Regent. He’d thought about it, how to get rid of the men without getting himself in the spotlight but it was impossible; he couldn’t fire them without a reason because that would make him seem childish and tantrum-y, but creating a reason would get him in danger. “Next time you come this close you will pay for it.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” both men spoke, strained.

“Good,” he walked back to his room as quickly as he could, making them both struggle to catch up. He’d practically reclused himself there, just to avoid looking at the men’s ugly faces.

He missed Nicaise. He’d gotten used to seeing him all the time and he now felt a little lost, a little lonely. The backgammon box sat on its spot at the bookshelf, and Laurent had caught himself more than once looking at it longingly; he’d almost gone to him, but he was constantly reminded that the two men outside of his door could do a lot of damage.

He sighed, pushing his letters away. He needed to clear his head.

_System?_

**[Greetings, User!]**

_Tell me Prince Laurent’s favorite routine._

**[Answering User’s question:**

**7:02 – Wake up.**

**7:10 – Take a bath.**

**8:00 - Breakfast alone.**

**8:30 – Horse riding.**

**10:00 - Library re-arranging.**

**12:00…]**

_That’s enough._

**[Glad to be of service! We thank you for your preference!]**

_Well_ , Laurent thought to himself. _Time to learn a new skill._

. . .

Laurent, along with his thug parasites, went down to the stables. The stable boy had seen them coming because he had prepared Laurent’s horse before he even asked for it.

Now, here was the funny part: Laurent had never ridden in his entire life. He was a city boy! A _gay_ city boy! The closest he’d ever been to a horse were those statues downtown, and he’d never really thought about it. It was not the kind of expertise he’d needed back then. 

He took the horse’s bridle and led it outside, feigning calm.

Horses were huge. Bigger than he’d ever imagined.

_Systeeeeeem!_

**[Greetings, User! Opening horseriding.exe]**

Laurent let himself move with whatever puppet strings were on him; a foot here, his hip that way, and he swung himself over the horse. He felt _so_ tall; he was sitting straight, his forehead high. He wished someone could take a picture, for him to add a filter and uploaded it to Instagram with a quirky caption. He distracted himself with what he would have written down while his bodyguards got on their own horses. He could feel the horse under him jitter and he squirmed. He wanted to move, it felt so awkward to just stay still while having all that power under him.

_System, what is the horse’s name?_

**[Answering User’s question: the horse’s name is Rigel.]**

“Rigel, Rigel,” Laurent tried the name out and the horse’s ears moved. He grinned and ran his fingers over his neck. “It’s nice to meet you, Rigel. I’m Laurent.”

Rigel knew Laurent, but not _this_ Laurent; the horse huffed and shook his head and Laurent grinned as his fingers went through the strands in its mane easily. Laurent turned to watch the Deschiens brothers; he was glad he had the System because it seemed that getting on a horse was a complicated business. The stable boy had both horses held; Govart was struggling to get on, not having enough strength to push his right leg over the saddle, Garion wasn’t much better, while he was already on top, he seemed too tense, like he would fall.

He raised a brow when he saw that Garion was slipping on his side and barely managed to hold on to avoid his fall. The seat was tied wrong. Govart’s horse bucked, throwing the young man back.

He looked at the boy, a teenager with braided black hair, and found he was looking at Laurent too.

“Forgive my clumsiness, Your Highness,” he pleaded, but he didn’t look very remorseful. Laurent saw right through him; a stable boy working at the palace, serving the prince, wouldn’t make silly mistakes like that. And Laurent’s saddle was perfectly tied.

Laurent looked at him, feeling the sides of his mouth rise as he watched the two men struggle. It seemed Prince Laurent had allies, after all.

He took off, ignoring the gasps and calls from his bodyguards.

. . .

He took the time to practice horse riding without the System’s help. It was surprisingly less difficult than he’d thought. Rigel was a perfect sweetheart, following his commands like she read his mind.

His first practice was slow, but he soon grew bored. He urged Rigel to go faster and faster, and she did; they moved fluidly among trees and over trunks. Rigel seemed perfectly tuned with his movements, responding to the barest pull of the bridle.

Laurent practiced different postures while riding, sometimes almost standing on the stirrup iron, where he learned the feet were supposed to go. He spent hours outside, enjoying the sun on his shoulders, the wind on his hair. Being so covered up meant he wouldn’t burn his skin, but it also meant he was boiling inside his lacy jacket.

He decided to take it off, working through the laces as quickly as he could, and when the silk jacket came off, he stuck it under the keeper, so it wouldn’t fall off. He had money but he wasn’t going to spend it on new clothes. Well, not all. But he did like this jacket.

He pulled his sleeves up and the sun was a blessing on his skin. Vere was pretty cold, even for his standards. There were days of sun like this, but the wall and shade inside the castle always kept him just below cool. The jacket was as much of a necessity as it was a way to stop people from watching his bare skin.

Speaking of watching creeps, Laurent was deeply thankful for the stable boy’s help. He had not even thought of the Deschiens brothers for hours and he felt refreshed and calmer than he had been in weeks. The stress slid off his shoulders, and he could understand why Prince Laurent had loved coming here. He knew the Prince came with Auguste constantly, he’d heard it in the files, the activity a bonding exercise and game. He could imagine them, racing along the river, then taking off their fancy shoes to put their feet on the water. Talking about whatever they wanted. He’d done similar things with his own Auguste; they used to arrange picnics in the park just around their apartments every Saturday. It was nice, to have little traditions of their own.

Thinking about Auguste made him… sad. Very sad. He’d lived two lives now, and lost Auguste in both. He looked at the sun and sighed; it was setting slowly, which meant it was time to go back. He took Rigel on a soft-paced walk to the castle; at the border of the forest, he saw Jord on horseback.

“Your Highness,” he bowed his head, as Laurent reached him. “You gave your guards a scare.”

“They are not my guards,” Laurent flicked his hair off his shoulder. “You are. Were _you_ scared?”

“I knew where my Prince was,” Jord answered and Laurent smirked.

“What news from Orlant?”

“Nicaise is…”

“An annoying little shit,” Laurent completed. “How is he?”

“Eating all his meals and threatening to set the curtains on fire if he’s not given more sweets.”

“Give him more sweets, then.” He was fine. 

“Of course, Your Highness.”

They had reached the stable. The stable boy hurried to hold his horse, and as he descended, Laurent noticed how he kept his head down, hidden from view. He hadn’t done that before.

He asked the System for the kid’s name before calling him.

“Anúar,” the boy turned towards his voice but did not raise his head. Laurent placed his palm under his head and made him look up. The kid had a bruise on the right side of his face, and finger marks where he’d been clearly slapped.

“Which one did it?”

“Your Highness…” Anúar tried to pull away but Laurent then held his face, internally wincing at the pained sound the kid made.

“Which one of the two brutes did this?” He kept his voice soft.

“The biggest one, before they went to search for His Highness.” Laurent let go.

“Go see a doctor for a salve,” he ordered.

. . .

He found the Deschiens brothers inside his rooms, sitting in tiny sofas.

“Your Highness!” They stood up quickly. They looked worried but Laurent didn’t give a shit about it.

**PING!**

**[Communication is important! Please choose one of the following options:**

  1. **You two are a monument to incompetence. Jord, take them to the post and have them whipped 20 times. Then they are dismissed from their service.**
  2. **Did you enjoy your free day? I will pay you to leave me alone. Name your prices.**
  3. ***Slap Garion*]**



Laurent blinked. Slap Garion? He could do that?!

_Oh. Hell. Yeah._

He walked in confident strides up to Garion; he was taller than Laurent and bigger by all means, but Laurent wasn’t afraid. If the System said he could do it, he could do it.

Garion leaned in, probably confused at his closeness.

“Your High-“ Laurent slapped him.

The hit echoed through the room, leaving all in silence. Even Jord, who stood by the door, seemed surprised.

“You hit someone who couldn’t hit back,” he said. “Next time, make sure all odds are in your favor.”

Garion straightened up.

“Your Highness-“ Laurent slapped him again, this time on the other cheek.

Fuck that felt good.

“I am not done. You are too close.” Garion stepped back in haste. “I do not care for my Uncle’s orders. If he wants to spend the Crown’s money on dimwitted thugs to play babysitter, he can.” Garion’s eyes were huge, looking only at him. “Leave.”

The brothers left. Jord remained in his spot next to the door, inside the room.

Laurent stood in the middle of his room, chest heaving. One by one, he forced his muscles to relax, breathing in and out. His shoulders lowered, his jaw unclenched.

“Jord,” he called. “Bring me today’s mail.”

“Your Highness,” he bowed and left, leaving Laurent alone.

. . .

Three days had passed since his outburst and he was not dead as retaliation, so Laurent was in a good mood. He still missed Nicaise like crazy but as the situations calmed and smoothed, the idea of returning Nicaise to his rooms was less insane than before.

Orlant would still be in charge of Nicaise’s safety, of course. Maybe he’d have to add people to his guard; he’d talk to Jord about it.

He shuffled through some government documents; his input in the Council was taken into consideration, but not yet counted. He still had to read the legal paperwork, learn what changes were being made, what laws invoked. It was tedious; if he had wanted to do this, he’d have studied Law, but he’d been a miserly English and Literature student.

In his high school teacher’s immortal words: he paid 12,000,000 dollars to learn a language he already spoke. Funky life decisions.

Well, these essays were writing themselves, by now. That Written Expression class was really worth all those dollars.

A knock brought him out of his letter-induced stupor.

“What?” He called, taking a moment to relax his wrist from holding the quill with which he was writing. He wrote with _quills_ and _ink_ now; his life was just that extra.

“It’s dinner, Your Highness,” a maid’s voice called.

“Come in,” he stood up and met a young-looking woman half-way. It was his preferred dinner, a light broth and sweet bites of candied fruits. His eyes fell on the tea, already mixed with milk. These ladies were catching up. He took the trail and gave a nod to the girl. She left before he’d even set the trail down.

He picked the tea first, enjoying the sweet aftertaste. This was so, so, so good.

He took a big sip and carried on with the broth they’d sent-

His hand trembled as he picked up the spoon. Was he that hungry? He drank his soup forgoing the spoon in favor of hastiness; he didn’t want to pass out. It had happened before, in his other life, that he’d lose track of time and end up accidentally starving himself for a day. He finished his tea in three large gulps and smacked his tongue, displeased; the sweetness was extraordinarily pronounced, nearing on too much even for him.

His vision blurred for a moment; he brought a hand to his forehead to still himself. Did he eat too fast? Is that why he was dizzy? His breathing shallowed and he felt-

Hot. He was hot. So hot. So suddenly hot.

Why the fuck was he so hot?

There was a pressure setting in his belly, the same heat spreading quickly; his legs twitched and he-

He was hard.

Why was he hard? System?? Human bodies don’t work like this???

He brought a hand to his chest and felt it heaving. He couldn’t hear himself. He took a big breath and when he breathed out, it came with a whimper.

His hands were shaking, the heat pooled and pooled and grew; his head felt like it was going to fall off his shoulders.

He walked to his bed but stumbled halfway there, barely managing to hold on to the eiderdown to slow his fall. It smelled good. Really good.

He rubbed his cheek on the fabric, it was so soft, he wanted that on his dick _right now_ -

Wait, no. No. No. _Yes_.

No?

What was happening?

He heard the door open and looked back; the Deschiens brothers stood there, their faces hidden in dark.

“Your Highness,” Garion spoke as he walked in, leaving Govart to close the door behind him. “Laurent.”

He didn’t like his voice.

“Shhhh,” he tried to hush the man, but all it came was a soft sound that made Garion laugh before turning to his brother. “Get started on that closet.” Govart nodded and moved towards his closet, which made Laurent frown; those were his things, they shouldn’t- _ah_ , touch them, no-

Garion walked up to Laurent, looming over him.

“Hello there,” he purred. Laurent rested his neck in the curve of the bed to glare up at him. “Shh, it’s okay, it’s all fine…”

Laurent took a shaky breath and Garion’s smile became wider.

“What do you see?” He asked without taking his eyes off Laurent.

“Just clothes-“

“Look for jewelry boxes, that’s where he said it’d be.” Laurent struggled to catch the empty words; there was a _he_ and an _it_ , but what-

Garion raised a hand and slowly brought it to Laurent’s head, threading his fingers through the hair slowly and softly. It felt nice and Laurent sighed. Garion smiled in wonder. “Wow,” he breathed out, repeating the movement.

“Aha!” Govart exclaimed. “Under here...” There was a noise of wood clattering and Laurent twitched in his place, wanting to turn to the closet and see; Garion tightened his grip on Laurent’s hair. He whined.

“Eyes on me, pretty boy,” he growled before speaking to his brother again. “Did you find it?”

“Yeah, here it is,” Govart answered and Garion turned to see him. Here was what? Why were they here…

“Good. Come see this.” Laurent heard Govart arrive next to his brother, and saw him as he leaned in.

“Fuck, he’s pretty.”

“And he’s so out of it,” Garion laughed again, pulling on Laurent’s hair until he whimpered again. It hurt- Stop, _stop it, stop-_

Govart shook his head with a smile.

“You’re really going to do it?” Govart asked.

“Fuck yeah I am; you heard the old man- _‘Any means necessary’_. Fuck it, if I get him to drink chalis I might as well get to enjoy him. Gods, can you believe it?” Garion turned to his brother. “To be the first to have him? _Fuck_ -“

“You’re crazy,” he said, the smile still in his voice even as he sounded far away. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Yeah, see you later.” Laurent heard Govart walk away. The second they heard the soft click of the door, Garion brought Laurent’s head closer to him, making Laurent’s cheek rest against his hip. “ _Fucking finally_ ,” he groaned.

Laurent was breathing through his mouth, wasn’t it uncomfortable for Garion to have his hot breath right against his crotch? Laurent would have. It was hard to not be hard when that happened. Laurent could _never_ be hard.

Why was that?

Oh, yeah, his reputation. He wasn’t supposed to have sex. Ever.

He closed his eyes. He was still very dizzy.

He opened them when he felt Garion move his head again, this time bringing his cheek exactly over his dick. He was half-hard already, and Laurent frowned deeply. This wasn’t right. He tried to move away, but Garion applied more pressure to keep him there.

“Shh, no, don’t move, you’re perfect there, shh,” he cooed softly; he began rolling his hips, bringing his crotch up and down Laurent’s face. Laurent frowned even more, it didn’t feel good, it was pushing his face and his cheek, and it was all wrong; Garion laughed breathlessly in return.

“You don’t like that, huh? Alright, then,” he took a step back, letting Laurent’s head fall back into the bed again. The rapid movement scrambled his brain and he whined. That didn’t feel nice. “It’s alright now, Laurent. I bet you’re really hot, right? I can help you, let me…” He leaned in, placed his hands under Laurent’s armpits, and pulled him up. Laurent was thankful for that; he didn’t like sitting on the floor when he was feeling bad. Garion placed him on the bed and Laurent fell backward. His back hit the soft covers and he sighed out.

He felt better now. He was still too hot, but this was _waaaay_ better. Garion was unlacing his jacket, now.

“Hot,” he murmured and Garion nodded.

“Very hot, Laurent. That’s why we have to take all this off. Let’s make you feel better.” Laurent blinked slowly as his jacket came off and away.

Garion’s hands were on the back of his knees, opening his legs. It felt good, but Laurent felt too dizzy. He tried to say so, but nothing came out. Garion kneeled astride his legs. That didn’t feel as good, and Laurent frowned again.

“Such an ugly face there,” Garion brought his hand to smooth out Laurent’s face, rubbing slowly. Like petting a cat. A kitty-cat. A _kitty kitty kitty cat_. Like Nicaise! Nicaise was a kitty cat. That made Laurent smile. Garion sighed. “Much better… Fuck, you’re so pretty…”

Laurent mumbled as his face fell to the side.

“What was that, Laurent?” Garion leaned in as he started to grind on him. The pressure felt good on his dick. God, how long had it been since he last- “What did you say?”

Ah, yes, that. The kitty, kitty thing.

“Nic’se…” He drawled out, his breathing too shallow for proper words.

Garion stopped for a moment.

“So you fuck the little pet, too? Maybe I’ll have him after I have you.”

Laurent groaned as Garion turned him around. His face hit the sheets, _fuck_ , they smelled _so_ good… But Garion was too heavy for him to enjoy.

“G’off…” He whined. _Get off…_

He wanted him off, why wasn’t he obeying? Laurent wanted him off, he was still too hot, and he didn’t feel well.

**PING!**

“Loud…” Laurent groaned and Garion huffed.

“Bitchy princess can’t even stay quiet,” he ground harder against his ass, and Laurent’s legs twitched. “You’re gonna be the lay of the century…”

**[Greetings, User! You have entered Major Plot Scene: A Viper’s Second Taste of Venom. Congratulations! Would you like to see your options?]**

_Uggghhhngggggkkkk._

**[Here are User’s options:**

  1. **Lie and take it.**
  2. **Call for help. DENIED.**
  3. **Stab Garion. PENDING APPROVAL.]**



Laurent grumbled and turned his face away from the bed, taking in a deep breath. Breathing actual air and not soap and Garion’s skin cleared his brain a little.

_Why was that pending? What was going on? Syyyyysteeeeem…_

**[User is under the influence of chalis, the Akielon Love Drug. You have entered Major Plot Scene: A Viper’s Second Taste of Venom. Congratulations! Would you like to see your options?]**

_Yeah… Yeah, options…_

Laurent heard Garion groan, and the sound wasn’t as under the water as it used to be.

**[Here are User’s options:**

  1. **Lie and take it.**
  2. **Call for help. DENIED.**
  3. **Stab Garion. PENDING APPROVAL.]**



_I wanna stab…._

**[Option C: Stab Garion, has been selected. Can User move his fingers?]**

Laurent’s hands barely twitched when he tried to make a fist. A firm _no-no,_ then.

**[Option C: Stab Garion is denied. Please choose another option.]**

“No,” Laurent gasped. “I wanna-“

“Shh, it’s alright, Laurent, I’ve got you,” Garion mumbled by his ears. And then he took Laurent’s hands and held them in front of his head. Laurent tried to move his fingers again, and this time, they responded better. Garion was still behind him, grinding his erection.

Then Laurent realized exactly what was happening: Garion was going to fuck him. While drugged. In his bed. While Laurent wanted him off.

This was _rape_.

Oh, he _definitely_ wanted to stab him now. 

Garion seemed to decide he had had enough of humping Laurent’s silk embroidered pants and let go of his hands to get them off Laurent. He removed his fingers from Laurent’s hips and began working the back laces and pulling down at the same time.

Laurent decided it was then or never. He stretched his arms sluggish and slow, and he extended them forward, reached under the closest pillow.

_Please, be there._

His fingers curled around a cold hilt as fingers massaged his ass.

_Yes!_

“Fuck, you’re gonna be so tight-“ Garion groaned, and Laurent moved.

It was clumsy, but it didn’t matter; in sequence, he brought his knees up to his chest, raised himself to kneel on the bed, pointed the dagger in his hand outwards, away from him. He threw himself at Garion, feeling too light and out of control. He couldn’t even feel his arms.

He didn’t notice he’d hit his mark until Garion screamed. He watched with dizzy eyes as he kept the dagger pressed at the skin under Garion’s clavicle. He pulled it out and gasped as he watched the blood flow out of it.

“You fucking-“ Garion began, stretching an arm to grab at him; Laurent held on to the dagger with both hands and stabbed blindly at him. He managed to land maybe three of four hits before tumbling down on top of Garion, who made an awful sound as his lungs were emptied from the fall. Laurent was straddling him, looking at him from above. His eyes felt like they were bulging out, his mouth was dry and his tongue still heavy. There was a new ringing in his ears.

Laurent paid attention to his chest; was Garion still breathing?

He waited for a second, and another…

Garion’s chest moved and he moaned in pain.

Laurent stabbed him again.

He felt an emptiness in his chest, in his mind. He just wanted the thing underneath him to stop moving, to stop doing that punched out noise and shut up shut up _shut up_

His hits became slashes and worked just as well. They were no more twitches or little gasps, just a squelch when he brought down his dagger.

He stopped very suddenly, but stood up slowly, using the bed to prop himself. There was blood everywhere: his shirt was splashed, and his hands were soaked, his knees felt wet; the dagger dripped slowly, and Garion…

He lay on the floor, in the midst of the candlelit room, his guard uniform a mess of darkness on the front. The scent of iron was strong, too strong. Laurent gagged at it and brought his hand to block his mouth and nose.

He felt the blood stain his face. 

He was no longer hard.

**PING!**

**[Greetings, User! Congratulations on Surviving Major Plot Scene: A Viper’s Second Taste of Venom.**

**User has won +3,000 points.**

**-150 points for OOC-ness.**

**+200 for bodily control.]**

The door opened and Laurent looked up, still in a daze. Who was that? Did he need to fight again?

“Your Highness!” Laurent felt his body sag in relief. He dropped the dagger.

“Jord-“ he called Jord raced to his side, only slowing down once he saw Garion’s unmoving body. He offered his hand to Laurent.

“Your Highness, come this way.” Laurent took his hand, trembling. Jord pulled him slowly towards him, held only one hand. “Step away, this way…”

He shepherded Laurent away from the cooling corpse, not touching anything but his hand.

“I killed him,” Laurent said, his voice clearer than he expected. “I stabbed him, I killed him.”

“Yes.” Jord nodded.

“He-“ Laurent spoke, brought his hand down to the waist of his pants, where the laces were still undone. “He drugged me. He tried to rape me.”

“Fucker,” Jord spat and Laurent looked at him, shocked by the loss of manners from him.

“Govart?” Laurent asked.

“I saw him run downstairs.”

“They- They walked in-“ They’d taken something- What had Govart taken with him? Laurent turned to the closet. On the floor in front of the doors lay that dark box with earrings and bracelets, the one where he’d-

Where he’d put Langren’s letter.

“Oh, fuck…“ he muttered.

“I’ll call more guards.” When Jord pulled his hand away, Laurent let him. He walked quickly to the opened the door and yelled:

“Guards!”

**PING!**

**[Greetings, User! Please choose one of the following options:**

***Plead innocent.***

***Plead guilty.*]**

Laurent sniffed, bringing his hand to his face to rub his nose, barely noticing the new wet trail of blood he was leaving.

He’d choose ‘ _plead guilty’,_ of course. He was, but he also was the crown prince of a powerful empire; the situation tilted in his favor. He would win the trial, if there even was one.

He would be kept safe, afterward. Jord wouldn’t leave him, and he’d call Orlant, too. And Huet. Laurent had seen Huet maybe two times in his stay, but Prince Laurent chose him, so Laurent trusted him too. He’d get better guards; he’d have Jord get the best guards in the kingdom, nay, in the _continent_ , and they’d always be around him-

He’d have Nicaise back. He wanted to hold Nicaise. He wanted a bath. He wanted something for the headache he was getting.

More people entered the room, guards, and doctors, crowding the room. Paschal entered and walked directly to him.

“Your Highness,” he called. “Can I get close?”

Laurent nodded and offered his opened palms to him. Paschal inched closer and took them, in a surprisingly gentle hold.

“You’re alright now, my Prince,” he mumbled as he studied them. Laurent nodded. Paschal started to clean his hands with a cloth.

The doors opened wide again and the Regent walked in. Everyone held their breaths; Laurent looked straight at him.

“Your guard tried to rape me, Uncle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deschiens is a made up name actually, meaning The Dogs uwu
> 
> as always, thank you for reading!! i love comments and they keep me fed  
> if you have theories, if you have a meme, if you liked my work, do tell! maybe it'll give me the energy to finish chapter 26 before February   
> love y'all!!


	7. 7 Ways To Make Yourself The Favorite In The Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: my value isn't tied to how productive I am.   
> also me: I Didn't Write Therefore I Am A BAd Writer and A HOrrible Horrible Person 
> 
> ksjfdhsjdf JK JK JK! it's the capitalism brain rot my American Job is leaving me with 
> 
> have a chapter! hopufully i WILL write later today and make up for it, and if i feel satisfied with my work today, I might even post another chapter uwu

There wasn’t a trial; not really.

After the initial shock, Paschal took Laurent down to the infirmary, where Laurent hadn’t been since the poison. He had a bath prepared for him and let him clean himself from the blood. He gave him clean clothes, and food, and water.

Laurent ate and drank and vomited it all an hour later. Jord stayed with him all the while, watching like a hawk. He probably felt responsible, but Laurent wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault.

It was Laurent’s. He hadn’t prepared for this. He knew it might happen, and he knew he’d been taunting the Deschiens brothers, hell, the Regent probably told them to _hurt_ Laurent, and yet he hadn’t had a plan for it. He’d just acted and reacted and got himself in a huge mess.

He’d learn from this. It wouldn’t happen again.

Jord called Orlant, and Orlant brought Nicaise, who threw himself unto Laurent (despite every other adult’s words of caution) and adamantly refused to let go. Laurent ended up laying down in the infirmary beds, sweating out the last of the drug, and trying to get real food into him. He let Nicaise chose his meal, and the kid hissed curses at the maid who brought steaks and not fruits. Then he dragged himself right up to Laurent’s lap and stayed there like a prideful cat.

_A kitten, a kitty cat-_

Laurent retched and put the back of his hand over his mouth to keep himself from vomiting; Nicaise looked back at him and placed his hand on the back of Laurent’s neck. It’s was blissfully cold.

“Don’t think about it,” he whispered in Laurent’s ear. “Put it in a box and away.”

“Mental compartmentalization is not healthy,” he whispered back, slowly taking his hand away from his face.

“Maybe, but if you vomit on me, I’ll make Jord my favorite. He gave me candies.”

“I told him to,” Laurent said. “Does that mean I’m your favorite?”

“Only if you don’t vomit on me.” Nicaise leaned back on him, and Laurent felt grateful. The weight grounded him, as did Nicaise’s voice as he started talking about what Orlant had taught him of history, sword caring, and horse breeding.

After that, Jord was called away, and he returned half an hour later to inform Laurent that his room was clean, once again. Laurent refused to step in there.

“I’ll be sleeping in my brother’s rooms.”

Jord only nodded.

“I’ll retrieve your clothes.”

Then he called Huet in. Laurent took a good look at him, carefully, slowly.

Huet bowed at him, serious and professional. Laurent liked that. He didn’t want anything else right now.

“Your Highness.”

“Huet,” he tried the name in his mouth. It fit easily.

He and Orlant accompanied Laurent and Nicaise to Auguste’s room; they stayed outside without Laurent having to tell them so. They didn’t allow anyone but Jord inside, when he returned with Laurent’s sleeping clothes and changes for several days.

Jord was the fucking best; Laurent tried to say that to him with his eyes only.

“Do you want to play backgammon?” Nicaise asked when they were in their nightclothes. Laurent shook his head. “Do you want to sleep?” He shook his head again.

“Come here, get in bed.” Nicaise did and Laurent curled up next to him, pulling the covers over them both. He just loved him, so, so much; he wanted to tell him.

**PING!**

**[Greetings, User! Here’s the System’s reminder that OOC Restraints are still in place.]**

He tried anyway.

“Nicaise,” he began but the System took over. “ _Stop squirming_.”

Laurent sighed. He really couldn’t tell him, then. Well, he’d just have to show him.

“You’re acting weird,” Nicaise complained. Laurent hummed a broken sound. He wanted to cry; he pressed his lips to Nicaise’s curls and pressed a kiss there.

He pulled Nicaise close, pressed him to his chest, let his hand stay on the kid’s arm, and rubbed little circles in them.

“Lau.”

“Hm?”

“My teachers want me to play the piano.”

“Hm.”

“Did you learn to play the piano?”

_System?_

**[Answering User, Prince Laurent can read music but never learned to play any instrument.]**

“I didn’t,” he mumbled into Nicaise’s hair.

“Do you like music?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have a favorite song?” Laurent had never fucking heard a single veretian song in his miserable life. They played in the reunions with the court, but he was too busy being a bitch to everyone to sit down and ask for song titles. It all sounded like a bad movie soundtrack to him, anyway.

“Yes,” he answered anyway. He’d just make up some shit. The System could eat his ass, he was so tired…

He was tired, and finally warm and safe, after months and hours of tension. Too much tension. God, his shoulders were killing him.

“Tell me,” Nicaise demanded.

“I don’t know the name,” Laurent lied. 

“Hum it, then.” Laurent smiled into Nicaise’s hair and began humming _La Vie en Rose_.

They had French roots, Gus used to say. Some long-lost great-grandmother had moved from France to America with her dead husband’s money, back when the United States was a hip new concept. Laurent had loved to play that he was the one moving to a new place, leaving pain and heartbreak and loneliness behind for a new home. New people and new loves and places and adventures.

It wasn’t so cool now, but hey, he could work with what they gave him.

Auguste had signed them both for French lessons back when their dad had died. Something about reconnecting with their past and distracting themselves from grief, but they ended up quitting after a couple of months. Auguste had hated the sound and Laurent had hated the tenses. _Passé Compossé_ didn’t make any damn sense, but he loved the aesthetic and there was nothing like speaking the basics of the Language of Love to flirt with cute guys in Pride Parades.

He’d memorized _La Vie en Rose_ just for kicks, and because Auguste’s eyes lit up in pride when he sang it.

He’d sing for Nicaise now, he’d make it his new secret family baptism. The System wanted him to get his found family? Well, Laurent would fucking do it, and he’d fucking do it through the power of Edith Piaf’s greatest hit.

By the third time he’d hummed _La Vie en Rose_ Nicaise was blissfully asleep. Laurent had tried to move him into a more comfortable position, but he’d whined and groaned so he just let him be. He just kept humming, sometimes mouthing the words into Nicaise’s hair.

He spent the night awake, all of it. He couldn’t and didn’t want to sleep, not when he knew he’d just drown in nightmares. He kept threading through Nicaise’s hair until the sun came up, cool and gentle over the tall windows.

Nicaise didn’t even stir, even as the room gradually warmed over and filled with light. Laurent didn’t dare move, he stayed still until Nicaise moved away, a little after nine.

“’m hungry,” he mumbled.

“Hm,” he breathed out and finally got out of bed. He covered himself with a woolen cover and walked to the door and opened it. Huet, Orlant, and Jord stood there, looking just as tired as he felt. He stared at them, feeling like shit.

“Breakfast?” Jord asked and he nodded.

“Pastries for Nicaise,” he told him. Laurent returned to bed to gently draw Nicaise from sleep.

He’d barely managed to coax Nicaise into a sitting position when Jord knocked on the door.

“Come in,” Laurent allowed. Jord walked in with a tray; he set in on the bed and Laurent studied it. There was a cup of black tea with milk. He reached for it with firm hands but didn’t get to sip it before the sweet smell hit him; he threw it back to the tray and ran to the chamber pot in the corner to vomit. The tea smelled like poison, too sugary and enticing. It probably wasn’t, Laurent knew it wasn’t, Jord brought it, it was safe, it was safe _it was safe_

He could feel Garion’s hands on him again, heavy fingers on his hips, on his legs-

“Laurent!” Nicaise was just behind him, his small hand on his back as Laurent retched again.

“Water,” he croaked and Nicaise brought it over. “Never again,” he hissed at Jord as he grabbed the glass and washed the vomit down.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Jord said, looking chastised.

“Go ask what comes next,” he dismissed him. Jord left, and Laurent felt bad for speaking to him like that. He wouldn’t get to apologize.

Nicaise walked him back to the bed and offered him a fork with a pear already speared on it. As Laurent munched slowly, he spoke.

“I get it now.” At Laurent’s raised eyebrow, he clarified. “Why you act like a bitch. They can hurt you a lot, so you can’t let them in. Even Jord. Or Orlant. Or Huet. Or anyone.”

 _Not you_ , Laurent wanted to say. He raised his hand and rubbed at Nicaise’s cheek. The child seemed to get it anyway.

“It’s fine, you can be a stuck-up bitch if you want. I’ll still play with you. One day, you’ll be king, and you’ll have better people around you. Then everyone will know how nice you are.”

“You think I’m _nice_?” Laurent asked.

“Of course not,” Nicaise smirked. “You’re the meanest person ever.”

After breakfast, they dressed and readied themselves. Jord arrived with news.

“The Council is in a meeting,” he said.

“At this very moment?”

“Yes, Your Highness. They are discussing how to deal with the situation.”

“Who is at the meeting?”

“Full council, Your Highness. Your Uncle and,” he paused. “Govart Deschiens.” 

Laurent’s eyes shot up at him.

“Govart Deschiens,” he drawled out. “Why?”

“I don’t know, Your Highness.”

“Then find out,” Laurent spat, icily. The ‘ _why the fuck are you even here, then’_ was heavily implied. Jord left again.

Laurent and Nicaise played backgammon until Jord returned, after dinner time.

“The council asks for your presence for the sentence.”

Laurent stood up and brushed non-existent dust off his sleeves. It was time to face the hypothetical music.

“Orlant stays here with Nicaise.”

“But Laurent-“ Laurent shot him a look. Like hell he’d have Nicaise go near a Deschiens, ever. Even less so near the Regent. Those meetings were just a pit of vipers and Nicaise needed to stay away from that.

Nicaise settled down.

“Finish my game,” Laurent told Orlant.

Laurent, flanked by Jord and Huet, walked calmly towards the Council’s meeting chamber, keeping his shoulders relaxed. No one could know what he felt under his clothes, how he wanted to tear his skin off at the thought of seeing Govart Deschiens.

He felt his hands wet with blood.

“His Highness seems calm,” Huet spoke carefully.

“The descent to Hell is easy,” Laurent said.

_Showtime._

. . .

When Laurent walked in, chaos reigned over the room. Calls of guilty, accusations, and screaming between the members of the council went over Laurent’s head, quite literally. There were no pets, this time; only the men and few women who’d have to deal with the delicate matter of a murder.

The Regent raised his hand and the room quieted down. Laurent spoke up from his spot at the entrance.

“You called for me, Uncle?”

“Yes, nephew, please come join us.” Laurent bowed and walked over to him. He studied the room as he walked: the council members sat in their seats, flushed red and gasping. It seemed the passionate fighting had been going for a long time.

He needed to cross the room to get to the raised stage, and his step faltered when he saw a figure standing in the side of the dais.

Govart Deschiens was there to testify.

Laurent felt his step stutter in shock. He kept his head high, only watching from the side as he passed him by; Govart was serious, with his hands placed behind his back, and he wasn’t looking at him either, his eyes were placed in the Regent entirely.

Laurent brought to his mind his hazy memories of Govart in his room, the calm search for the Regent’s letter, his indifference to knowing his brother was about to rape Laurent.

Laurent clenched his teeth.

At that moment, the tension in the silent room could be cut with a knife.

“Laurent,” the Regent called. “If you could get to the podium, please. Will you answer a few questions?”

_System, do I get a lawyer?_

**[Answering User’s question: there are no lawyers in Vere. Only a judge, which is always the man in the highest position in the room.]**

_So, the Regent. Yay._

Laurent smiled amicably at the Regent before walking over to the podium.

“Of course, Uncle,” he set his palms on the polished wood. “Please, go ahead.”

And so, the questioning began. It was clear from the questions the Regent was asking that it gave Laurent full advantage. It was a clear picture of a worried Uncle, trying to do his best to keep the law while protecting his last remaining family.

Lying piece of _shit_.

“Were there rules about personal space, Laurent?”

“The Deschiens brothers were to stay two steps away at all times.”

“Was there anything that might indicate to you that Garion Deschiens might turn violent?”

_You chose them, Uncle. You tell us._

“He hit a stable boy for not tying his mount correctly.”

“Did you ever fear for your safety?” Laurent blinked and smiled.

“Not for mine.”

Murmurs went around the room.

“Please, answer yes or no for the following questions, Laurent. I’ll recount the events. You were brought your dinner, a broth, correct?”

“Yes, Uncle,” Laurent said, furrowing his brows. Why would he change the way of questioning in the middle of the trial?

“The broth contained the chalis drug?”

“Yes, Uncle.”

A voice rang out from the room.

“Your Majesty, if I may?” The Regent turned his attention to Lord Abeline, who had stood up.

“You may,” he waved.

“Thank you, Your Majesty. Your Highness,” he half bowed to him. “How did you recognize the drug?”

**PING!**

**[Please chose one of the following options:**

  1. **Oh, you know… *wink***
  2. **The effects are very particular, my Lord.**
  3. **My Regent Uncle has used it on myself enough that I am confident in recognizing it, my Lord.]**



Laurent didn’t smile as he answered.

“The effects are very particular, my Lord, even if I had more pressing matter at the moments after its ingestion.”

The Lord bowed before sitting down, and the Regent carried on.

“The drug caused its normal effects, then?”

“Yes, Uncle.” No one spoke this time, but Laurent felt the energy of the room change as it dawned on people what had happened; Laurent had almost been raped, yes, but Laurent had been _heated_ , _needy_ , and _wanting_. The men of the council were like rabid dogs, and they’d probably be jacking off for months to an imagined picture of Laurent under them, high as a kite on aphrodisiacs.

“Garion Deschiens took advantage of your state?”

“Yes, Uncle.”

“Could you describe how?”

“He…” Laurent trailed off, trying to find the words. “He threw me on the bed and-“ Laurent trembled in his spot, having to look down at his hands and swallowing a knot on his throat. He didn’t feel like sharing his assault to a room full of- Of people listening like voyeurs, getting a full sketch of how Laurent was touched and prodded at.

What would Prince Laurent do _,_ Laurent wondered, if he had gotten in such a big mess? He wouldn’t be saying shit, that much he knew. But he wouldn’t beg. Not to his pedophile uncle, not for mercy, he’d-

He’d be changing the scales in his favor but how could he do that? How to make the Council see the scene in an undersexed light, how could he make them feel disgust over it and not desire? If they were too busy imagining what they would do if they had him in the same situation, they wouldn’t help at all.

He had to stop them from imagining, and he could do that by showing what really happened. And to do so, Laurent would have to swallow what little shame he had left and be precise with his words, tell them _everything_ that had happened, leave no room for imagination. He’d ruin the men’s fantasy, one way or another.

“And he pushed into my face,” he began, watching the room attentively for the reactions. “He held me by the hair and relished the fact that I did not like. I thought he would fill my mouth, but he didn’t. He pushed my knees to open my legs and felt my thighs and ass.” The words flowed easier if he pretended he was narrating someone else’s experience. “He called me _pretty_ , he called me _princess_ , he stated how _pleased_ he was that I was going to be so _fucking tight on his big cock._

 _“_ When he was distracted with taking my pants off, I reached under my pillow and pulled out my dagger. Then I targeted his clavicle, but my aim was a bit off; I kept stabbing him until I couldn’t hear his breathing over the sound of blood splashing out of-“

“I think that’s _enough_ , Laurent,” the Regent interrupted him.

“Of course, Uncle,” Laurent forced himself to smile as sweetly as he could. He looked around at the faces of the council members. He drank up the wonderful view of awkwardness and discomfort. None of the men looked very keen on using that particular scene as a fantasy anymore.

“Why did you have a knife under your pillow?”

“The man who sleeps with a dagger is a fool every night but one,” Laurent’s smile was more genuine this time.

“Thank you for your candor, nephew.” The Regent said and turned to the audience. “I believe this very clear, then. Prince Laurent of Vere and Acquitart is found guilty for the death of Garion Deschiens, his bodyguard. The crime is nullified over the concept of self-defense. Does anyone disagree?”

Laurent huffed, of course that would be all. There’d be no mention of Govart, he’d probably already give his statement, something about ‘ _oh I wasn’t even there, your Majesty, I don’t know what happened!_ ’. That was his prize for bringing the Regent that letter, of course, protection. Although it surprised Laurent that the Regent would keep his word, considering he’d already killed Langren Verany.

Well, he supposed the Regent had to have his own reasons; perhaps it was too hard to have a man killed so quickly after the big brother had been brutally murdered. He may be just biding his time.

“Now, I believe it would be fair for Laurent to have a say in this subject. Nephew,” he turned. “Govart Deschiens is now tied to an unsavory business with which he had nothing to do, and to send him on his way would be cruel. It is my wish to show the Veretian people that we believe in second chances; we are a fair government, not an unmerciful one. I wish to keep Govart in our military force, allow him to rise above his station. What do you think? It is never too early to begin taking part in these decisions.”

**PING!**

**[Greetings, User! Communication is important! Please choose one of the following options:**

  1. ***Agree.***
  2. ***Disagree.***
  3. ***Cry*]**



Laurent felt his smile tighten as he thought about it. What argument could be against keeping him in the army? As far as anyone knew, Govart Deschiens was an innocent man with a very bad brother; if Laurent sent him away, it would be seen as him being petty, letting his hatred of one man cloud his judgment.

So there’d no punishing Govart. How great.

“I trust your judgment, Uncle,” he bowed his head, grinding his teeth. 

“I applaud your impartiality, nephew. You may even grow into a fine ruler if you keep your mind cleared from prejudice.”

_May????????????_

“Then, it has been decided: Govart Deschiens, I, Richard, third of my name, Regent of Vere, send you back to your service in our military. May you keep giving service proudly and virtuously.”

As he left the podium, Laurent held back the overwhelming desire to punch someone. This place was a snake pit, corrupt, and easy to manipulate; he needed to change the Regent’s court as soon as he could, fill it with fairly decent people, to improve the world around them.

He was so tired; he was at the brink of a headache, and hungry, and jittery. He’d have killed _another_ man for an Aspirin.

He missed his apartment now more than ever, having his own space, safe and known. To buy some fancy soap and indulge in a soak in the tub, dye his hair himself, paint his nails. It was a shame that there wasn’t anywhere Laurent could organize an impromptu spa-day, unless…

He could always run off to one of his estates, couldn’t he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!! comments feed me more than soup, please feed a Customer Service Dumbass


	8. Why Dyeing Your Hair Can Be Considered Self-Care And Why You Should Be Doing It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in my defense, why else would i write 70k+ words if not to heavily project into laurent? when i wrote this i still hadn't dyed my hair, you all can mock me for indulging   
> I'm updating today because i FINALLY finished chapter 26! it's 8k of laurent panicking over damen, as every chapter should be  
> have a nice week y'all!

Laurent had decided, they were _so_ going to Acquitart for the proverbial boys’ night.

He planned for it in silence, in the midst of answering his letters and rereading the Veretian law. His evenings changed from bothersome to tolerable; he felt like a parent trying to sneak the presents under the tree at Christmas. He wanted it to be a full surprise for Nicaise and he wanted to have a pleasant week.

He wanted to have fun, and so, he planned for it. He sent a letter to the Regent informing him that he, Nicaise, and his Guard would leave for Acquitart. It felt so good to just let him know. Because Acquitart belonged to him, and no one else, he could come and go as he please, and boy, did he want to take advantage of that.

He still hadn’t managed to sleep, to his dismay. He didn’t have nightmares, per se, but he did wake up in cold sweat, feeling ghost hands roam his skin no matter how many layers he wore.

At least the suitors were laying off. Word that he had been attacked spread quickly through the kingdom, and the gentlemen who thirsted over his royal ass gave him some space. Either they were more considerate than he previously believed, or they were afraid he might kill them too.

It worked for him in the end, he thought as he brought out a wooden chest. He had begun to appreciate the Veretian style; it could be too much, but it wasn’t so bad! The clothes were really pretty, and the silks felt gorgeous. He’d never worn such expensive things before; it was probably the Universe’s way of saying ‘ _sorry we ran you over and sent you to an alternative universe where you’re destined to die!_ ’.

He threw the chest on the bed with a smile.

“Nicaise!”

“What?” The kid yelled from a set of sofas in the balcony.

“Come and pack!” Laurent rarely yelled but this warranted it. He was really excited!

He had to make double efforts to cool himself and school his face. Prince Laurent was above human emotions like joy. What is happiness? I have never felt a positive feeling in my life. Fuck you. 

That was more like it.

Nicaise walked in. “Pack for what?”

“We’re going to Acquitart,” Laurent said, opening his drawers. Should he dress blue as always? Or he could take the mint jacket and style his hair up, that’d be nice…

“Shit!” Nicaise hissed and started grabbing clothes in a rush. He ran from behind Laurent and almost crashed into the vanity to grab his hairbrush; he threw it all inside the carefully arranged box.

Laurent raised an eyebrow.

“What are you doing?”

“Hurrying. It’s alright, Laurent, do not worry, I can run quickly and Jord can carry the chest,” he started throwing Laurent’s _pressed_ shirts into the chest. How dare he! Those little shits wrinkled like they were getting paid for it.

Why was Nicaise so stressed??

 _Ah, of course_. The pressure of imminent death must have gotten to him.

“We’re going for enjoyment, not because we are in danger,” he said, carefully folding his mint jacket. He’d take both, anyway.

“Oh,” Nicaise stopped his race. “A vacation?” 

“Yes.”

“No homework?”

“No.”

“Can we have a picnic?”

“Perhaps, if you are good.” Laurent had already planned for three.

“I’m always good!” He screeched but carried on picking up his own clothes, this time with speed from his excitement and not fear. Laurent hid his smile in his curtain of hair.

. . .

They rode to Acquitart and it took them nine days.

Nine godfucking damn days. Laurent was two steps away from madness. They slept in tents and carried on at first light, Nicaise rolling between all the men, riding with them and sharing their saddles. Feisty little thing. They’d been travelling with some men Jord had chosen and Laurent had decided didn’t look like serial killers. They were fairly new and Jord wanted to shape them in loyalty to their Prince.

In any case, watching these young soldiers be afraid of a seven-year-old candy-eating demon was hilarious. Laurent had seen several of them step away from Nicaise more than once.

Travelling with Nicaise was an adventure and his only true joy in that trip.

“Laurent, what is that?”

_System?_

**[Answering User: that is a turtle dove.]**

“A turtle dove, Nicaise.”

“Laurent, what’s that?”

_System?_

**[Answering User: that is a collared dove.]**

“That is a collared dove, Nicaise.”

“Laurent, what is-“

“Mercy, Your Highness,” Jord asked as soon as they hit the three-hour mark of questions. Laurent didn’t mind; it was just pro-active studying.

“Cease asking me, Nicaise,” he said, loud enough for Jord to hear.

“Thank heavens…” murmured some other soldier.

“Ask Orlant instead.” Nicaise grinned like the little gremlin he was.

“Orlant! What’s that?!”

. . .

Acquitart was… a place that existed.

Huet wouldn’t say he didn’t like it, it was just… dull. So boring, nothing else to do but walk the endless lavender fields and buy lavender scented soaps and bath salts, and sleep in lavender colored sheets. And for all of old Arnouls’ attentions, he’d never been an eloquent man; his job boiled down to keeping the Prince informed about anything the castle may need and putting new covers when the nobles decided to deign Acquitart with their presence.

At least they were travelling with the Prince, that was always a fun experience; Huet used to play a game with the guard, one when they would count the minutes it took people to fall in love with Prince Laurent and add the seconds it took them to fall _out_ of love. They’d take that number and that’d be the money they’d spend in drinks in the evening.

He’d looked forward to playing again with the young soldiers that Jord had brought, but they just… didn’t fall out of love. They moderated their puppy crushes and they blushed and stammered, and they stayed loyal.

Either Jord had chosen the best men in Vere or…

Or what? Huet didn’t know. Prince Laurent didn’t usually inspire loyalty so soon. He was more of an _acquired_ taste. Once you realized you could move around the snake without getting bitten, you could think about how the snake was a very interesting animal.

Prince Laurent was in a complacent mood, it seemed. He had been ever since Nicaise had joined them. He snapped witty curses, and talked to no one but his closest, and he never thanked them for anything, but he seemed different. He could also be acting so subdued because of Garion Deschiens’ death, but Huet didn’t even want to consider that possibility. Prince Laurent was a strong bitch, he could handle the world thrown at him.

He sincerely hoped so.

When they finally reached Acquitart the Prince had all but raced to his rooms, leaving his men to deal with the horses and packs.

All inside was prepared in advance, from the rooms to the food, prepared for several days. Prince Laurent walked the castle up and down several times, and Huet remembered that it had been years since the Prince last visited.

He’d been a child last time, and Prince Auguste had still been alive.

The Prince and his ward had locked themselves in the Prince’s room, to play whatever games they played. Prince Laurent rarely yelled, but they could hear Nicaise’s thrilled laugh all through the evening, and all around the castle, changing rooms from time to time.

When Orlant returned from taking the Prince’s dinner upstairs, he was frowning.

“What?” Asked Jord, ever the worrier.

“He gave me an errand,” that could mean anything coming from the Prince. “He wants pink rice paper.”

“Pink rice- Alright.” Orlant pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m not even going to ask.”

“Nah, let’s bet,” Huet elbowed him. “I say he’ll prepare make up.”

“But…” one of the new soldiers, whose name was either Alan or Alain or Adam, spoke breathlessly. “I heard that he doesn’t wear any make up…”

“And who said it was for him?” Huet asked. “Do you remember,” he turned to Jord, “that time with the apricots? The salted glass tops and the wooden chairs?”

Jord snorted and took a swing of his drink.

“Remember the time with the purple chalk?” He countered. Orlant covered his mouth to stifle his laugh.

“I had never seen a more confused dog, or tutor.”

The soldiers looked at them dumbfounded. They were still so new to this, but they’d learn; serving Prince Laurent wasn’t like any other job in the world.

“Pink rice paper,” Huet laughed shaking his head. Who knew what he’d do?

“I bet you lot five coins that he makes something for Nicaise.”

“Aye, he loves that kid.”

“He _physically_ can’t love,” Huet snorted.

Orlant was quick to counter him. “No, no, no, no, he loves him. You haven’t seen how he looks at him, he would die for Nicaise. It’s insane, that family loves like crazy.”

“Except for the Uncle,” Jord hummed and they all shuddered.

“Sir,” one of the soldiers spoke softly at Orlant. “I would like to offer to buy the rice paper.”

“You want to do the bitch prince’s shopping?” The man blushed under Orlant’s judgmental tone. “Suit yourself, pray he doesn’t bite your head off. Or that he does, if you like that sort of thing.”

The other men pushed the shoulders of one who spoke, teasing him. Huet shook his head.

“I accept your bet; Jord?”

Jord shook his head.

“He’ll paint something, mark my words.”

. . .

The next morning, it was not Orlant but one of the new men who brought Laurent his paper rice. He was shaking and Laurent wondered if he was expecting Laurent to strangle him.

He wouldn’t, he was still sleepy. He’d barely managed to pay attention to the System telling him to cover himself up before opening the door. He’d wrapped himself up in the covers and stared at the guy silently. Maybe it was an evolution of his resting bitch face? It didn’t matter. He had more pressing matters to think about!

It’d been a while since he’d done this particular project! Last time he’d been like, thirteen? Fourteen? Young and with too much free time, but it was time those funky DIY abilities came to good use.

As soon as he shut the door, he woke Nicaise up.

“I need your help,” he whispered.

“Too early…”

“If you help me with this, we’ll do whatever you want for a full day.” Nicaise opened a single eye.

“Whatever I want?” Laurent nodded. “

“Deal,” Nicaise sat up and stretched. “Where are going?”

Laurent thought of the big pots he’d seen downstairs.

“The kitchen.”

. . .

After dressing up, they walked downstairs; Laurent munched on his morning fruit as he picked between the deep pots in the drawers. The cooks and maids had been sent away at his orders; he’d spoken to an old man who the System introduced as Arnoul. Apparently, he was the keeper who sent Laurent his monthly letters, letting him know about the state of the fort. Laurent had taken a moment to thank him about it, and was surprised when the System allowed him to, no points taken away. Apparently, Prince Laurent was able to _not_ be a bitch to certain people.

“What are you going to do?” Nicaise sat on a tall stool; Laurent picked a particularly dark pot and eyed in carefully; it would do well to hide the colored water.

“Dyeing,” he said.

“ _What?!_ ”

“As in _staining_ , Nicaise, don’t shout.” He started pouring water over in the pot. “Help me put it in the fire.”

Laurent carried the pot and placed it over the fire. He missed his electric stove; he’d taken it for granted and he regretted it so bad. Laurent dropped the pink paper in the water and sat back to finish his light breakfast. He made them take their time eating and drinking, but eventually Nicaise began jumping around a lot in boredom.

“When will your witchcraft be done?”

“You call putting paper in water witchcraft?” He snorted. Nicaise showed him his tongue.

“I’ll call it whatever I want; is it done now?”

“Is the paper white yet?” Nicaise rushed to the pot and studied it carefully.

“No.”

“Then no,” Laurent studied his nails in practiced aloofness. What a picture they probably made.

They stayed there until the water boiled; it had to be less than five liters, but it took its sweet, sweet time. It was Nicaise who finally shouted:

“It’s white!”

Laurent grabbed the pot’s handle with a cloth and moved it carefully away from Nicaise.

“We’re going back to the room.”

They walked slowly, Laurent taking care of not dropping a single drop. Nicaise had regained his enthusiasm and curiosity, and kept moving around him, asking questions.

“What are we doing? Are we painting clothes? Paper? Food? Oh! Are we poisoning someone?” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

“I’m painting my hair,” Laurent finally told him. “Please open the door.”

Nicaise did, dumbfounded.

“How?”

“I’ll put my hair in the water, and I’ll stay there for half an hour. It’ll last two or three days.”

“Why?” Laurent shrugged. How do you say ‘ _I’m a pastel punk gay and I miss k-pop’_ in veretian slang?

“Why not? I want to try it.”

Prince Laurent’s hair was probably light enough for him to dye without having to find a way to decolor it, which was great news because he had no idea how to do that. The last years he’d been going religiously to the stylist to do him, he really didn’t trust himself.

“You’re so fucking weird. What do you need?”

Nicaise was the absolute Best, where else would Laurent find a child who just rolled with his 21st Century fuckery?

“Towels,” he told him and Nicaise went to get some. Meanwhile, Laurent set the pot on the floor. It was significantly less hot now, but Laurent decided to wait a little longer; he didn’t want to put his brand-new hair in boiling water.

He set a tower on his shoulders, to protect his clothes. Nicaise helped him lay down and put his fine strands of hair in the pot, taking care to cover it all, all the way to the roots.

“Can we play backgammon when this is done?” Nicaise asked, looming over Laurent.

“Of course,” Laurent breathed out; Nicaise lay down next to him, setting his head on Laurent’s stomach and Laurent started petting him. They stayed in silence, listening to the soft murmur of the wind outside. Laurent closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

He felt the floor on his back, cold but not terrible. Nicaise’s soothing weight on him, the warm from his breath on his cloth-covered navel rivaling the heat of the water on his head. There was a scent of lavender on everything.

“Laurent?”

“Mh?”

“Can you sing again? For me?”

“Mh,” Laurent didn’t open his eyes, but began humming. After a little while, Nicaise changed his position, moving his head to Laurent’s chest.

“I can feel it,” he mumbled, and Laurent huffed a laugh. “It’s nice.” Laurent kept petting him, humming _La Vie en Rose_. They stayed like that until the water had gone cold; then Laurent poked Nicaise’s cheek.

“You’re heavy, get off,” he teased. Nicaise rubbed his eyes as he straightened.

“You’re too bony, sleeping with you is like sleeping in a bed of nails.”

“For how long have you had that phrase ready?” Nicaise ignored him.

“Is your hair done?”

“It better be,” he groaned as he sat up, his bones creaking. “We’re never napping on the floor again. God, my back is killing me-“

“Lau…“ Nicaise wasn’t paying attention to his words. His eyes were focused on the top of his head, his eyes wide and his mouth open. He seemed stunned; Laurent stood up and walked to the nearest mirror, praying to every god he’d ever heard of that it looked good.

He found his eyes in the mirror, still bright blue, and took a breath to steel himself. He looked up.

His hair was… Very pink.

He gasped a laugh and covered his mouth immediately.

**[-20 points for OOC-ness!]**

Oh, he’d known he’d pay for it, but he loved it. He looked more like himself than he’d done in months and it felt so good. He took his hand to his dripping strands and rubbed softly. The ink stained his fingers and he rubbed them too, smearing the color on the tips.

He’d have to wait for it to dry to really see the result, but he was happy.

He was away from his problems, Nicaise was here, and his hair was pink; he actually felt pretty optimistic about the future!

Fighting a pedophile Regent while surviving the attack of a rightfully disparaged foreign body builder, all the while preparing himself to rule a country he’d only known for less than a year, what was so scary about that?

It’s just like, three things to do! Super-duper easy!

As Laurent set the backgammon set on the bed, Nicaise taking off his shoes to climb into it, feeling well fed and well rested, he smiled.

. . .

Nicaise didn’t like chasing Laurent, but he’d become very good at doing so in Acquitart. Laurent seemed to enjoy re-exploring the castle, but they’d finished that too quickly; they’d moved to discovering the market that had set near the fort, where he bought oils, tinctures, and soaps to bring back to Arles. Nicaise didn’t get why Laurent wanted them so desperately, but he knew he’d find out eventually, probably before everyone else.

Just like with Laurent’s pink hair! Which was the weirdest thing Nicaise had ever seen but Laurent seemed pretty happy about it, so Nicaise just rolled with it, like he rolled with the lavender, or the embroidered capes, or the hair braiding. Laurent was already so goddamned weird, what was another thing?

At least he’d covered it as they went out; he’d picked the castle’s ugliest cloth and tied it on his head like a milkmaid and strolled down as a peasant. They’d made that a game! Nicaise was the Young Master visiting the fort and Laurent his faithful servant.

He’d called Laurent ‘ _Lolo’_ all day and Laurent had to follow his every word. It’d been pretty funny until Laurent had decided they were to go back to the castle and had picked him up and carried him away. It wasn’t Nicaise’s fault that he was so light! He wasn’t _tiny_ , as much as Laurent liked to say, he was still young! He’d grow even taller than Laurent one day!

“Not if you keep avoiding your vegetables,” Laurent had said, mockingly. “But that’s none of my business.”

Then he’d disappeared completely! It was their last day before heading back to Arles and Laurent was nowhere to be seen.

Neither Jord or the oldest guards seemed very worried, so Nicaise had to take advantage of the newest guards’ paranoia; Nicaise wasn’t worried, Laurent could take care of himself, but Nicaise wanted to be with Laurent and by the Gods he’d pin Laurent’s sleeve to his if he had to.

One of the guards had found Laurent and told Nicaise where: the hills; and so Nicaise walked all the way to there. It took him 30 minutes when Laurent had probably ridden his fancy horse to make it in half the time; Nicaise decided to pout all the way there so Laurent felt guilty and let him ride back with him. It always worked.

He found Laurent standing, simply staring at the sunset; his hair was almost back to his normal blond, but still pink enough to just like the sky did at the moment. He seemed deep in thought. People thought Laurent was shy and quiet, but he wasn’t. He was just thinking, all the time, always planning ahead, for the good and the bad. Nicaise wanted to learn how to do that too, but it seemed a lot of work. Laurent looked _apprehensive_ (he’d learned that word last week, for homework); Laurent was a fixer, and he took all the weight of the world, every problem.

Nicaise wanted to help him too.

“Laurent!” He ran and purposefully crashed into him, to stop Laurent from thinking. And for a second, he didn’t look like a prince destined for a cursed throne, as people said sometimes, he looked like a young man who’d been caught off unaware.

Laurent was beautiful always, but especially like this. He looked soft. Nicaise understood why people squished puppy’s faces and cooed. Watching Laurent was like that too, in these moments.

“Laurent,” he whined. “Why are you here?”

“Does it bore you?”

“Yes, so much, too much,” he shook Laurent’s arm until it sneaked under him and held him close, warming the skin that had cooled under the mountain wind. “I want to play.”

“You can play here.”

“Play what?”

“Tag.”

“Tag?”

“You don’t know tag?” Laurent sneered. Nicaise knew better than to take it personally; this wasn’t Laurent mocking him, he was just asking a question. He shook his head. “Alright,” Laurent turned to him, releasing him from his hold. “We chase each other and say _‘tag, you are it’_ to make the other one chase.” 

“Like this?” Nicaise asked and slapped Laurent in the arm. “Tag, you’re it!” He ran away, Laurent hot on his heels.

“Tag!” Laurent pressed his shoulder softly and turned around. Nicaise screeched and went after him, running as fast as he could. Laurent was faster but Nicaise caught up quickly; he was letting him win, but he didn’t care. He tackled him and they both fell down.

Laurent huffed from his spot on the grass.

“If you stain my jacket, I will slit your throat,” he told him, voice muffled.

“Orlant will stop you,” Nicaise let all his weight fall on Laurent’s back.

“He can try,” Laurent sat up, making Nicaise fall again.

“Laurent!” He complained, draping himself over his prince. _Look at me, look at me_. He liked Laurent’s attention; Laurent didn’t act like he was stupid, or too young to understand somethings. Laurent just explained it and moved along.

“Mh?” Laurent’s eyes were back on the horizon.

“What are you watching?” He clung to Laurent’s shoulders, looking in the same direction.

“The hills.”

“What for?”

“They’re nice to look at, have you considered that?”

“It’s just grass, and weeds.”

Laurent shrugged from under him.

“It’s calm.”

“It’s too quiet, feels weird.”

“ _Unnerving_ ,” Laurent provided.

“Whatever.”

“It not quiet,” Laurent said, after a moment. “Can’t you hear all the noise?”

“What noise?”

“The birds, the wind, the trees,” he waved at the view. “The hills are alive with the sound of music,” he said in a singsong. He looked away from Nicaise, but he knew he was smiling.

“There’s no fucking music here,” Nicaise squinted.

“You are being dense on purpose. You understand metaphors perfectly well.”

“Fuck poetry,” he said. “Fuck your musical hills.”

“So harsh on the lavender fields, Nicaise. It is not their fault you cannot appreciate a sonnet,” he stood up, picking up Nicaise and carrying him on his back. “Let’s go, then. Back to your rigid stone walls.”

Nicaise hid his satisfied smirk in Laurent’s shoulder blades.

“Alas,” he stopped walking. “I think I shall recite all the way back.”

“Laurent, no…” Nicaise whined.

 _“Laurent, yes_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you see that the trip to Acquitart took nine days here and more time later, do not tell me, i already know. it's fanfiction and i cannot, will not do math for this   
> I'll make something up about troops being harder to move, thank you for ur attention


	9. INTERLUDE: Watch These Co-Workers Plan Their Boss’ Birthday Party and Not Get Paid Extra Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this today because ITS SUPER SHORT, its a one shot; a midnight snack, if you will. Especially because DAMEN FINALLY APPEARS NEXT CHAPTER  
> You heard that! Mr. All Mighty Protagonist appears next chapter and I'm really excited about it! So have this fluffy bread stick before the main course actually starts.   
> I hope you enjoy the silliness, this is just sweet! Little-to-no pain! Nicaise and Jord POV!

Laurent said that time could run like river water, but Nicaise hadn’t thought about it until he realized it had been eight months now since he’d had been brought to Laurent’s household and care and started proper tutoring.

He could count properly, now, and do math, read and write more than his name for a signature, he knew history, and music, and some sciences. He wouldn’t have been able to learn all this if he had stayed with Richard- with _Laurent’s uncle_.

He used that thought to put things in perspective; he didn’t want to sleep with _Laurent’s uncle_. That was just plain fucked up, to sleep with his older brother’s family. Incest wasn’t healthy for anyone, that’s what the Mind Studies books Laurent kept in his rooms said.

Speaking of Laurent, it would be his birthday soon! Nicaise hadn’t had the opportunity to celebrate it correctly last year, with the whole ‘ _I’m fucking your uncle and I get jealous of his attention to you’_ , but he wanted to do something for this one. It wasn’t every day a prince turned eighteen! That was being an adult!

He wasn’t sure what to do; he knew Laurent would rather be fed to wolves than to attend a ball in his honor, and a special meal just increased the chances to poison him, so neither was a good idea. A small reunion seemed the best, but it couldn’t be only Nicaise there, they had to invite Laurent’s friends, too.

If only Laurent had friends.

Well, Jord would be there, and Orlant and Huet. Maybe he could invite Paschal, too. Laurent always seemed pleased enough to see him. And perhaps Radel?

These were all old, old men, Nicaise mourned. If only he could invite Aimeric! He was closer to Laurent in age, and they could talk about things older kids talked about, all the courting and wine drinking or whatever it was.

But Aimeric was Nicaise’s friend, not Laurent’s, and they hadn’t ever met each other. Aimeric’s father didn’t like Aimeric leaving and he never allowed him to travel to other states, not even to visit Nicaise. Nicaise had been working up the courage to ask Laurent to ask Aimeric’s father for a trip, but he was still nervous. 

So, Aimeric was an impossible idea, as were all the pets and courtesans in Vere. Nor royal, nor… anyone. _Ugh_ , Laurent made being nice to him so damn difficult.

. . .

It had fallen on Jord’s shoulders to prepare the surprise party for his Highness eighteenth birthday by petition of Nicaise, and it was nerve-wracking. It was hard enough to serve Prince Laurent on a normal day, even more so to do something for him and without his explicit consent. He trusted that because it was Nicaise’s idea, they wouldn’t be too terribly punished, but… Well, Laurent didn’t need _punishments_ to punish them, did he? He did that well enough just by existing in their vicinity. Serving Laurent was, at the same time, an honor and a mistake.

Even so, he managed it; here was the most decent party he’d ever done: there was cake and no alcohol. No pastries, only a fruit tart that everyone had sneered at but Nicaise had insisted was the best course of action and Jord decided it was simpler to obey.

He wasn’t going to fight Nicaise; he wouldn’t win.

And so, a table was set up in the servant’s quarters, facing a lovely view of the garden, courtesy of Master Radel. They met there at 4:30, set the whole thing up. Nicaise brought the prince over at 5 o’clock. They held their breaths as Prince Laurent walked into his surprise birthday party.

His blue eyes took the scene bit by bit, the food, the presents, the people. He blinked at the fruit pie, once, twice, _thrice_.

Fuck, was that a good or a bad sign?

“Happy birthday, Laurent!” Nicaise chirped from his side, where he was still holding his hand. “You are one year closer to your death!” And began singing the traditional Veretian birthday song: “The day that you were born, a-a-all the stars cried,” he swung himself from foot to foot rhythmically, and the men joined awkwardly in the singing. “They knew they’d never be as beautiful as you. As the Sun begins to rise, and the Moon hides her face, rise up, early, dear Prince Laurent, look at what we’ve brought today!”

They sounded terrible, in Jord’s opinion. They should have practiced this. Nicaise clapped when they were finished, clearly thrilled.

“Sit here, Lau, I’ll get you some cake!” To Jord’s surprise, Laurent did as he was told. He sat down in a chair and watched as Nicaise picked up a knife to start cutting up the pie. Paschal and Radel rushed to his side to take it away.

Radel sent Nicaise to Laurent’s lap as Paschal started making triangles in the cake as he mumbled about irresponsible adults. Soon enough everyone had a serving, but no one took a single bite until Laurent did.

He munched slowly.

“It’s acceptable,” he said out loud, seemingly to no one in particular. “Even with the excess of raspberries.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Nicaise said. “You love raspberries, that’s why there’s so many.”

Prince Laurent scoffed in mockery, but he finished two more servings of pie, which was telling in itself.

“Now, the presents!” Nicaise picked them up and ran them through Laurent’s hands, which picked apart the paper and opened boxes. The Prince’s hands never ripped the paper; he unwrapped it carefully.

He went through each gift with minimum complaints: Orlant’s book about stars was boring, Huet’s new dagger was of poor craftsmanship, Radel’s winter jacket was too big, Paschal’s bath salts for headaches weren’t even a gift, they were his job, Jord’s own new set of quills and ink were unnecessary, until all that remained was Nicaise’s mystery present, which he’d purposefully left at the end.

“From me!” He chirped, and Laurent opened a little bag made with pink-colored paper. Inside rested a woven bracelet, made of different pink and blue threads, thin and fragile looking.

Dear gods, Jord closed his eyes in pain. The Prince never wore jewelry. Not ever, no rings, no necklaces, no earrings, and especially no _bracelets_! Gods help the idiot who offered to make him look like a pet.

“Look! I made it myself!” Nicaise told Laurent as the Prince studied the little bracelet. It looked so small, even in the Prince’s slender hands. “I found how to make it in a book, and it’s _pink_ , and it’s little so you can wear it under your sleeve and no one will notice!

“And, even if you don’t use it as a bracelet, it can be a bookmark! For all those books you have!”

“ _No_ ,” Prince Laurent interrupted and Jord braced himself for a punishing blow, but the Prince held out his wrist and Nicaise hurried to put the bracelet on him, smiling and twittering about. 

“It took so long to make! I had to re-do it a million times-“ he rambled on and Laurent stared at him with that particular look; the one that made Jord believe Laurent was a real person, not just what his reputation made him seem.

Jord sighed, letting the stress of the past week melt from his shoulders. It wouldn’t be so bad to keep having parties like this. 

. . .

Dear Aimeric,

It worked! You were right!

Laurent loved the party, and he loved the gifts!

Right now, he is sitting in bed reading that new book about stars, the one Orlant gave him.

He hasn’t dropped it since he began reading last night; he’s already finishing it.

As for the bracelet, he did have to take it off for training,

but he put it in that big box with these pretty earrings he never wears.

I have to convince him to let me get my ears pierced too, don’t you think?

Your friend,

Nicaise

. . .

Dear Nicaise,

I’m glad that it worked!

Our Prince can be so difficult to give things to, but there had to be something he liked. He truly had no complaint about the color? I still cannot believe his favorite color is pink, he never wears it!

My father will be going next week to Vere, I’ll send with him some pairs of earrings I have for you, so they’ll be your first set.

I am sure pearls will suit you the best.

Your friend,

Aimeric

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jord: what do you have there?  
> Nicaise: A KNIFE!   
> Paschal and Radel: NO!! 
> 
> Also, yeah, Nicaise made a friendship bracelet for Laurent.   
> Thank you for reading!! I really appreciate it!!


	10. 9 Ways Slavery And The Trend of Thirsting For Serial Killers Intersect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to update because I didn't write anything this week but this fic really is my one chance at serotonin skjfhsdjf  
> So here you go! Have a Damen!!   
> This one is like, 6k or so because I joined two chapters like I'm not behind with my writing lmaooo   
> Please leave a comment! I love hearing all your reactions!

Not to be an absolutely dramatic bitch, but Laurent was about to die. He’d been following his routine for almost two years now since he first set foot in this Hell of a story, and it all had flowed swiftly; he’d learned so much and had become an _amazing_ Prince Laurent.

In barely months, he’d turned into a fearsome cryptid in the Veretian castle, the snake under everyone’s beds, the one the people whispered about in awe. People still talked about that time he dealt with that dude who’d tried to convince him to lend Nicaise off for a gangbang. (Pray the fucker found peace in the next life because Laurent had given him none in this one.) Now, entire years after his fateful arrival to Vere was truly the stuff of wonder.

Not so to the Regent, though, but that was a whole other subject; the System tied his hands so that he interacted as little as possible with him, in the wise of keeping him from ‘ _disrupting the timeline’_.

What the fuck was a timeline anyway? A slimy excuse the System had to force him into doing its bidding.

The same little bitch of a System who kept giving him missions for its own sick entertainment. Laurent was sure the System just enjoyed watching him squirm and struggle; it was not easy to be kind while pretending he was not kind.

He'd helped pets leave abusive contracts, squirreled girls and boys away from arranged marriages with sketchy people, gave some south-eastern lords his sound approval in politics. He was making little allies, but he needed more. He always needed more.

It wasn't always raindrops on roses, but nothing would ever hold a candle to the morning the System went:

**PING!**

**[Greetings, User! Congratulations on reaching the ‘Earn Your Crown’ Arc! The information necessary is downloading. Please wait.**

**basicakielonlaw.exe downloaded**

**emergencyoverride.2.exe downloaded**

**Thank you for your patience!**

**We welcome User to the beginning of ‘The Darkened Prince of Akielos’! We wish User the best of lucks!]**

Laurent double blinked at the announcement. He didn’t even have time to ask anything, because the door opened with a bang and Jord entered the room.

“Your Highness, there is a council meeting being called immediately. You are demanded to be there.” _Demanded?_

He straightened in his chair. “What happened?”

“The Regent has received a letter from Akielos. King Theomedes is dead. Prince Damianos is dead. Kastor is King now.”

. . .

Laurent had barely a week to prepare himself for Damianos’ arrival; he ran in and out of his rooms, into the servant’s quarters, into Radel’s office, into the gardens. Anywhere that could be run into, he’d been there.

He checked, and double, and triple checked his money allowance; his preparations to hold a slave, or several slaves, in proper conditions. Radel, bless him, had everything prepared for him as soon as he had heard what was happening, and ran Laurent through the steps with marvelous efficiency.

The whole castle was in a commotion; lords and ladies gossiped and murmured about the slaves and gifts coming for them. They daydreamed about the doe-eyed, docile beauties they’d be sent, their exotic airs and words. They wanted them so badly, and Laurent wanted nothing more than to set them free. The millennial with a knowledge of human rights that still lived inside of him was outraged.

But he had to keep his cool. Everyone was already threading carefully around him, wondering when he’d snap; they thought his bad mood was due to Damianos’ death, but oh, they couldn’t be more wrong.

Laurent would soon have Damianos in front of him. Bound and enslaved.

_And what was he supposed to do about that?!_

He couldn’t just set him free; he’d already asked. He’d tried to plan for this, but it all came down to vague recommendations: be a cold bitch but not cold-bitchy enough to warrant someone’s vengeance.

It felt like he was shaking an 8-Ball for a math answer.

‘ _How much is 2 plus 2?´ ´Perhaps.’_

When the Akielons finally arrived, the castle went into a frenzied state. Rooms for viewings were set and prepared for the different gifts and treasures sent by King Kastor as a peace offering. Laurent himself had to go to them, as was his duty as a royal; he had to supervise what had come to his borders.

The castle had also been buzzing with gossip, and the System had rewarded him with so many points for paying attention to them; Nicaise, too, had been going up and down the walls, gathering bits and pieces for Laurent’s ears.

As Laurent dressed up for the viewing, Nicaise told him things Laurent already knew; how Kastor was newly crowned and sleeping with the Lady Jokaste, who was rumored to be the late Damianos’ favored lover. The gifts being sent were not only jewelry, but also other fineries, like hand-painted plates and cloth, earrings, necklaces, and cutlery. Basically, anything that shone pretty.

The slaves were even more valuable. Each of them worth a small fortune in Akielos, they were the greatest present the Akielons could make.

If only it wasn’t an insult.

To send great gifts that were useless to the gifted, what a fucking joke. Vere didn’t use slaves, not by that name anyway (Laurent still maintained his 21st Century posture of ‘ _Capitalism is the Modern Slavery’_ but he really couldn’t share it. _Yet_.), so sending them a bunch of fancy slaves who were trained all their lives to simply sit there and look pretty was such a low blow.

Gold and silver could be traded and worked; slaves had to be given to people.

It made Laurent sick. He’d been searching for ways to help them, but the System! Wouldn’t! Let! Him! Do! Anything!

He felt like the happy faces who were _Not Happy_. The ironic ones who were upside down. He just wanted to solve shit in peace, please and thank you.

He helped Nicaise with his own clothing, less restricted than his, but still complex. The laces were aesthetic, but god, at what cost?

Nicaise hummed some bawdy song he’d heard a drunk lord sing once as Laurent worked through his back, moving his fingers in dexterity, lacing Nicaise’s fancy dress shirt. He was very good with laces now.

“Laurent.”

“Mh?” He put a lace on his mouth as he straightened up the rest.

“Are we getting a slave?”

“Pwobabwy,” he said through the lace.

“Are you going to sell it? Can we keep it?”

“I am not going to sell _them_ , Nicaise. _They_ are not an object.”

“So we _are_ keeping it. Them,” he corrected himself.

“Yes, we are keeping the slave.”

“I’m going to beat them at backgammon,” he said with a fierce certainty and Laurent petted his head carefully, as to not undo his carefully arranged hair. He’d put pearls in it today.

“A slave would let you win even if they were better than you.”

. . .

Nicaise pouted all the way to the first room, but Laurent’s tease was soon forgotten; Laurent gave Nicaise permission to pick what he liked from the piles of treasure the Akielons had brought over.

The order was like this: first, everyone would attend to the first room, where the physical, golden taxes were to be; from there the Regent would choose first, five objects. Then Laurent (Nicaise, really) would make his pick of three, and then the rest of the Court would pick one. The rest of the treasure would go to the Royal Treasury.

Then the second room was the viewing of slaves. It really was just symbolic really, no one would “choose” anything there, because the process to delegate a foreign slave was more complicated than choosing a pretty painted plate. They were just to see the slaves and carry one with their day, though Laurent knew most of the Court would stay there to appreciate the new dolls they’d be receiving.

The third room was going to be the important one for Laurent. That was where Damianos was going to be, his own personal slave, _bed-slave_ if he so wished.

As Nicaise searched for pretty jewels to wear in the tables of the first room, Laurent’s mind was in the third one. Damianos was already there. He knew it. Jord had sent Rochert to inform him he’d been brought inside already; that his slave was big and looked dangerous.

Well, Laurent knew exactly how dangerous Damianos was. He’d read almost ten thousand pages about it. If anything, Laurent was the most prepared Veretian in the country, even above the Regent.

“Laurent, look,” Nicaise showed him his open palms; he’d picked an arm cuff, a ringlet of golden flowers and pearls, and a wide choker made of gold chains. He nodded to him and Nicaise curled up next to him, admiring what he had chosen.

They went to the next room; as soon as they entered, Nicaise gripped Laurent’s hand so strongly and so suddenly he nearly threw him off balance.

There were people on their knees, on the floor. They were men and women, dark-skinned and beautiful, every single one of them. These were the treasures of Akielos, Laurent thought, astonished. Next to him, Nicaise still held on to him like a limpet.

_Chill out, kiddo, these are not the ones you should be scared of._

Laurent held Nicaise more firmly and steered him in long strides to Guion of Fortaine, next to the first line of Akielon slaves. They were greeted with a bow.

“Your Highness.”

“They aren’t bound,” Nicaise accused quickly. They spoke in Veretian, which Laurent doubted the slaves understood.

“Of course not,” Guion answered. “These little doves won’t cause any problem. They’re absolutely harmless, see?” He placed one of his hands on a slave’s head and gently petted; the slave didn’t even stir, didn’t move from its position kneeling and looking down, being as submissive as possible.

Looking at Nicaise’s face, it was clear Laurent wasn’t the only one creeped out by the display.

“Can they talk?” Nicaise asked.

“Yes, they can, would you like to hear?” Guion offered and Laurent decided that was enough; Guion might be an ambassador and the father of Nicaise’s only friend but _he_ was a prince, and he would take the reins of this repulsive conversation.

“Ask them yourself,” he told Nicaise. He’d just started taking some Akielon classes along with Patran and Vaskian. It wasn’t much, Nicaise and he still had a long way to go to properly speak the language, but it was enough to not ignore the _person_ next to them.

**PING!**

**[Opening basicakielonlanguage.exe.]**

Nicaise crouched slightly to the nearest slave.

“ _Hello_ ,” he said, shyly, in Akielon. When the slave didn’t move, Guion put a hand on the slave’s shoulder and told him something Laurent didn’t understand at all. Laurent felt offended at this; the System had downloaded a bunch of data into his head like Laurent was an 80’s Macintosh and it wasn’t even enough to understand those orders? Fuck you, System!

The slave immediately raised his face to Nicaise and said something, too fast and too low for Laurent to catch; thankfully, Nicaise turned to Guion for translation.

“He says, ‘This slave greets the Young Master’.” Nicaise nodded and looked at the slave yet again, as did Laurent. Both studied him carefully.

He didn’t look too disheveled, he supposed; just like had spent days in a ship with restricted movement. He was a fine young man, well-fed and beautiful. His skin, unblemished like he was an Instagram make-up artist, while still darker than everyone else’s, was pale for an Akielon. He had this gold and bronze aesthetic going, like he belonged in a Renaissance painting of a low-lit candle. Laurent thought he was lovely, a little sun in the middle of their cold Vere. He hated himself for the objectifying thought immediately.

“ _You name?_ ” Nicaise asked.

The answer was _‘something, something Erasmus’_.

Erasmus! This was Erasmus! He was this sweet thing Damianos met in a garden, a fellow Akielon suffering terribly at the hands of the evil Veretians.

Oh, he had to do something about that. Like, very soon _. Oof._

He’d have to make sure he ended up somewhere safe, well-cared for. Who was a nice person? Who could he trust with the wellbeing of this young man?

Ah. No one. He’d have to keep this problem in mind.

“ _I am Nicaise_ ,” Nicaise told Erasmus, who bowed his head to the floor in acknowledgment. When he came up again, Nicaise pointed at Laurent. “Laurent.” He said.

“ _Prince Laurent_ ,” Guion corrected and completed making Erasmus pretty, pretty hazel eyes open in understanding. Seriously, what was up with his face? He was absolutely precious. 

Erasmus went down to the floor, not bowing but laying himself at Laurent’s feet. Guion nodded, pleased.

“A proper sign of respect to a noble as yourself, Your Highness.”

“ _Up_ ,” he barked, harsher than the intended, at Erasmus, who obeyed instantly, rising to his kneeling position in a single, fluid motion. He turned to Guion. “Have they been fed?”

“Not yet, Your Highness. We’re waiting for your- Ah, there he is, Your Majesty!” Guion called as the Regent walked in. Nicaise hid behind Lauren and he sighed internally.

_Here we fucking go…_

“Guion, nephew,” he greeted them with a soft smile. He peered behind Laurent. “Hello, Nicaise.”

Laurent squeezed Nicaise’s hand until his voice came out.

“Your Majesty.”

“Oh, how proper!” He laughed good-naturedly. “And who might this be?”

“One of Kastor’s gifts to the crown, Your Majesty.” Now that Erasmus had his head raised, Laurent could actually see his reactions; he didn’t seem to understand Veretian, but he must have recognized Kastor’s name, from the way his body tensed even when his eyes were still on the floor.

Laurent wondered if he knew Kastor was a traitor, a murderer, and a thief. What did Erasmus know of the political state of the country? Did he think Damianos was dead? Did he mourn his prince?

Laurent felt a pang of pain for Erasmus, trapped in a foreign country with not a single clue of what was going on.

Damianos, of course, was suffering too, but he was a warrior and a prince and could defend himself, Erasmus on the other hand… His posture, his demeanor, his every breath was soft. He looked like a cinnamon roll and he probably was a cinnamon roll. Sweet-faced, sweet-voiced, a golden little bird for the Veretians feral cats to play with.

He looked around, at the other slaves; they all were like this. Laurent resisted the urge to pick every single one of them and feed them in the mouth himself. They needed to eat, take a bath, and sleep eighteen hours straight. They needed to be treated fairly and nicely, _oh god_ , they needed human rights. Where was the UN when you needed them?!

He’d ask for an ambassador to help him, but that was supposed to be Guion, and look at where that had brought them. God, he couldn’t wait to be king and start fixing this fuckery.

“Oh, Laurent,” the Regent called. Laurent turned to him.

“Uncle?”

“I heard they had your personal gift ready if you wish to go pick it up.”

‘ _It’,_ the Regent said, like Damianos was a fucking chair.

“I take my leave, then,” he gave Erasmus one last look, committing to memory his face, before turning around and leaving with Nicaise in hand. He would have liked to spend more time there, hear what the Regent was going to instruct, but he knew a dismissal when he heard one. He’d just have to finish his conversation with Erasmus later.

Laurent was very happy Nicaise no longer liked the Regent. He called him by his title, and always had some criticism; he spoke about his time with him with other eyes. Nicaise was growing in a much better environment than before, even if he still lived in between snakes and vipers. _Yay._

As they walked, Laurent prepared himself. What could he expect of Prince Damianos of Akielos, as one who’d read a book with his thoughts and actions?

He was tall and strong, dark-skinned, more so than Erasmus. He was probably bound; he’d been fighting the whole way. Maybe he still was drugged, a little out of it.

He was angry, _very_ angry, at the moment. It wasn’t time to take anything personally, it wasn’t Laurent’s fault that Damianos’ brother was a sneaky bastard (no pun intended) who destroyed his filial relationships for power and pussy.

Laurent had bigger things to think about other than petty family disputes; he had to save his own skin, for starters! He had to stay as fucking far away from Damianos as he could, be as impersonal as the block of ice he was supposed to be without being a cruel piece of shit; he definitely had to survive this part of the book.

There’d be no death, no revenge, no sir. Damianos hadn’t killed _his_ Auguste; and while Prince Laurent was like, _super valid_ for wanting to retaliate, Laurent didn’t have time for that.

He’d be cool and smooth, he’d be silk on motherfucking satin; he’d go inside the room, acknowledge Damianos’ existence with a twist of the mouth, and then bid his time until the not-yet-darkened crown prince of Akielos had his chance to run away.

Let _Mr._ _A-Thousand-Consenting-Lovers_ cross his fucking country and retake what was his while Laurent sat in his rooms, still evading the Regent’s ploys until news of Damianos’ triumphant return reached his ears or Laurent turned 21 to take the throne, whatever happened first.

He just needed to be careful! He’d keep his hands to himself to avoid making a mess of a situation; he’d deal with Damianos in the future when they both became kings. Laurent knew, per The Darkened Prince of Akielos, that Damianos was of the opinion that their kingdoms could coexist perfectly well, and boy, was Laurent willing to do anything to keep it that way.

While he had no doubts the Veretian army was a force to be reckoned with, he didn’t want to push his luck with Damianos’ perfect mind and gods-given luck.

Because, all in all, Damianos _was_ a protagonist! Even if he was a little twisted at the end, he still was made to win hearts and wars. He was a flawless man, a god among mortals! That’s how The Darkened Prince of Akielos worked; the hero always won!

Laurent bit his lip, suddenly remembering his Twitter feed. Would Damianos look like in the fanarts? He knew he was being ridiculous, but oh, he remembered those pictures, the ones with Damianos bound, the ropes digging into his skin, his hair a little wild, his eyes bright and righteously furious.

That fury had to be a spectacle of its own, truly. He imagined it was like staring eye to eye with a lion hunting down prey, a fighting dog ready to destroy its rival.

Oh, he could _die_ under that look…

But like, die in a kinky way?

God, that was worse, he couldn’t think about _that_ now! He had bigger things to worry about! He couldn’t trade the future of his country for dick! He couldn’t trade his _life_ for dick!

Unless… No.

No. Noup!

Not thinking about the _huge dick_ Damianos of Akielos brought with him.

Jesus Fucking Christ, Laurent, _get a grip_.

They finally came to the doors the guards opened them, and Laurent stepped in, hardening his eyes and his heart.

 _Let the dogs bark,_ he thought to himself. _I am above it._

He walked into the room with his head up high, feeling ready, head high, relaxed shoulders, sneer in place. He looked to the left, walking through the members of the court that had joined him and-

And then he saw Damianos, Prince of Akielos.

_Oh, fucking hell on a fuck._

He was _not_ above it. He was not above _anything_ ; he was _below,_ so below it; that man was so god-fucking-damn _hot_.

His hair was shorter than Laurent had expected, but he was still the picture The Darkened Prince of Akielos painted: a strong, warrior king capable of seducing the coldest heart. His eyes were dark and deep, his face reminded Laurent of old Greek statues of heroes; powerful, manly, and proud.

Goodness, those _arms_. Those thighs. His eyes strayed upwards; Damianos was wearing a golden collar that looked suspiciously like a BSDM choker. _Wow_.

He stayed in the back of the room, breathing deeply, and trying to calm himself.

It was fine, it was cool. Who cared if Damianos was too good-looking for his own good? This was just the same deal as the cute barista from the Starbucks in Laurent’s University if Mike from the morning shift had had huge beefy arms and a jawline that could cut through glass. And was a Crown Prince with fame as the best lover across countries.

Laurent looked around the room, to discern who was there to get good gossip and who to report back to the Regent; the Lords Arsalan, Lord Cazal and his pet Ninon, Lord Bonhomme and his two pets…

Not everyone was from the Regent, which was good news; the crowd didn’t reach the 50 Laurent had previously expected, probably not even 30 people, counting pets and actual relatives.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

“Your Highness,” Guion appeared suddenly from behind Laurent, who felt his heart jump from the fright. When had he even arrived?! Shouldn’t he be still in the other room with the Regent?

He felt Nicaise give his hand a couple of squeezes, a question, _are you alright?_

He squeezed back gently. _Yeah, I’m fine._

“If you have not yet approached the slave, I’ll be delighted to introduce you two.”

 _‘Introduce’,_ ha! Laurent knew more about Damianos than all these people combined.

“Lead the way,” he told his ambassador, who walked confidently to Damianos’ side. Laurent walked leisurely, even swinging his hands a little bit.

 _Silk on satin_ , he reminded himself. _Cool, smooth. Chill_.

He stood in front of Damianos for the first time.

**PING!**

**[Greetings, User! Welcome to Chapter One of The Darkened Prince of Akielos. Communication is important! Please choose one of the following options:**

  1. **An Akielon groveling on its knees. How fitting.**
  2. **I hear the King of Akielos has sent me a gift.**
  3. **Aren’t you the marvel of Akielos... ]**



“I hear the King of Akielos has sent me a gift.” Laurent forced himself to remain in his spot. He wanted to run far, far away from there, take Nicaise and hide away; he wasn’t ready for all that Damianos really was.

He was big. Like, _big_ big. No playing-around-twunk, no, this was a bull of a man, trained to fight, experienced in war and hand-to-hand combat, and it _showed_.

If Damianos’ arms had seemed pure muscle from the other side of the room, it was nothing compared to seeing them up close. He half wanted to reach out and touch, prove it was real, but he knew better; he liked his fingers where they were very much. There’d be _no_ touching Prince Damianos.

Guion nodded enthusiastically at his words.

“He’s intended as a pleasure slave, but he isn’t trained. Kastor suggested that you might like to break him at your leisure.”

Break him like what, train him to fuck Laurent? Or have Laurent fuck him?

Jesus Christ, no, neither were good ideas; why would Laurent ever allow a foreign man, who looked like he wished and could butcher everyone in the room, to sleep in his bed and break his years of celibacy? Even if Damianos was Laurent’s favorite character, and he knew, _Laurent knew_ , he was a practiced lover, he would _not_ sleep with him. He knew better than that.

Maybe if Damianos didn’t have bloodthirsty eyes at the moment, Laurent would indulge, but alas.

**PING!**

The System spoke its options and Laurent chose.

“I’m not desperate enough that I need to soil myself with filth.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Guion looked around nervously as the crowd at their backs mumbled away.

When Laurent returned his eyes to Damianos’ face, he found he wasn’t looking at him like he expected, but directly at Nicaise, who was right in height for him to stare at. Laurent felt the displeasure freeze his face. He pushed Nicaise back, holding his hand more firmly.

To his surprise, Nicaise peeked to look at Damianos from behind him, hiding his face in an overly childish way in Laurent’s clothes. It was a habit they were breaking to give Nicaise more independence, more autonomy, and presence, but in front of others, it usually was the best for making Nicaise appear less of a threat, ergo, less of an enemy to Laurent’s own enemies.

Laurent felt his chest constrict; he needed out of the room.

“Send him to the pet rooms,” he told one of the guards who were holding his leash. Jord and Radel were already waiting for him, a room, a bath, and food ready. He turned around, but he’d barely given two steps away when Nicaise pulled at his hand.

“I want to speak to him, too,” he mumbled for Laurent’s ears only.

 _Oh, love_ , Laurent wanted to tell him, _this one isn’t like Erasmus._

Was Nicaise not seeing the sheer size of the man? Damianos could probably hold Nicaise’s head in one hand, and he certainly had the strength to hurt him.

Against all instinct, he shrugged. Prince Laurent wouldn’t be afraid, and so, Laurent had to act brave and uncaring of consequences.

“Alright,” he looked at Guion. “Remove the gag.”

“Your Highness, if I may suggest-“

“Do it.”

As they did, Nicaise got closer, dragging Laurent with him; Nicaise hadn’t let go, so Laurent wouldn’t. It was like that, always.

“ _You name?”_ Asked Nicaise, in the exact same manner as he had Erasmus. Damianos didn’t answer, simply looked at his face, studying him. What was he hoping to find? Bruises? Well, sorry to disappoint, Nicaise wasn’t abused in this good religious household. “ _Name?_ ” He asked again, this time saying the word slower and more carefully.

Damianos didn’t answer and Laurent rolled his eyes. That was just being petty. He leaned down and asked Damianos directly and in Veretian.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?”

The _sweetheart_ thing was a fandom joke, from Laurent’s old life on Twitter. As chapters went by, readers found it both funny and frustrating that all the women Damianos slept with called him ‘ _sweetheart’_ , no matter where they were from, no matter age, not anything. Logic would dictate, if you have women from different backgrounds and a goddamn amazing world-building with different cultures with different languages and dialects, you’d have different pet names for your rugged, handsome lover, yeah?

Noup! Prince Damianos was everyone’s sweetheart. How a book so good could have such a stupid problem was out of Laurent’s understanding.

Damianos lifted his head and they locked eyes. A shiver went down Laurent’s spine.

_Oh, bad, bad, bad idea. Shouldn’t have done that. Won’t happen again._

“Perhaps he’s defective,” suggested Guion and Laurent took offense. First of all, being deaf or mute wasn’t being _defective,_ you ableist prick. Second, the words seemed to displease Damianos too because he frowned; furrowed his brows, and pouted ever so slightly. _Fuck_ , he was handsome.

“ _Your name, sweetheart?”_ Laurent asked in Akielon, taking advantage of the System and speaking slowly to ensure his best pronunciation.

Damianos raised his eyes to Lauren and cocked his head, slowly. A smirk began stretching his face, and if Laurent thought he was handsome before…

He opened his mouth and said in Veretian:

“I speak your language better than you speak mine, sweetheart.”

Laurent clenched his jaws so quickly he swore there was a cracking sound. All around them people’s mouths fell open in shock at the slave’s gall. The guard on Damianos’ left elbowed him in the face, forcing his face to his side and away from Laurent.

The hit made Nicaise jump backward into Laurent’s reach for protection. Guion looked like he wanted to melt into the floor, but Laurent’s mind was far too busy screaming internally to even consider using Guion’s guilt for his advantage.

_How was saying that a good idea, Damianos?!?! Holy fuck?!?!_

“The King of Akielos says, if it pleases you, call him ‘ _Damen’_ ,” said Guion, his tone his shamed. This time, Laurent raised the eyebrow directly at him. What kind of a half-assed mystery nickname was that? “They thought a slave nicknamed for their late Prince would amuse you. It’s in poor taste. They are an uncultured society,” the ambassador hurried.

He huffed a laugh and looked for parting words.

“It is an uncultured society ruled by a bastard and a whore. Quite appropriate.” Below him, Damianos jerked in his bounds, making everyone jump. Laurent was already expecting the anger, he’d just insulted Damianos’ brother and lover in a single breath, but he really didn’t care. They were traitors who would get punishment as soon as Damianos made it out; it didn’t matter what Laurent said.

He turned and walked away, this time with Nicaise in toll. He left the third viewing room in favor of his own; it was finally time to plan the shit out of his future.

. . .

The next morning, Laurent felt like shit; he’d locked himself in his rooms and barely slept, his thought spiraling out of control into anxiety and excitement.

He wished it weren’t a combination of those two, but alas, the heart wants what it wants, and what Laurent’s heart wanted was to swoon into the arms of the very real, very strong, very handsome Damianos. He couldn’t help it! He was just a gay fanboy who’d really liked a book!

Transmigration was fucking up his mind, but this was just like those tumblr jokes they made when YA novels were on the rise: imagine your favorite character came to your door one night and whisked you away to their world, and then held you… And kissed you… And made sweet, sweet love-

 _No!_ Laurent knew better! This Damianos, while most probably bisexual by cultural osmosis, had only slept with women in a ten thousand paged book, so…

Yeah, there was no way he was getting it on with the Prince of Akielos.

But he digressed! The problem was he had a book crush on a guy that was suddenly real but also would probably sell him to Satan for a fresh horse. So Laurent couldn’t fuck him.

_‘I speak your language better than you speak mine, sweetheart.’_

_Nnnnggghhhh,_ Laurent couldn’t _not_ fuck him. 

Why were boy crushes so difficult?! He just wanted to get laid without fearing for his life, was that too much to ask? Why was Prince Laurent’s life so hard? Give a pretty boy a break, please!

But he knew there was no break coming on, he’d just begun the hard part of life; in the morning he’d have to play nice with everyone, pretend he wasn’t going out of his mind about the whole thing and-

Ugh, he’d have to attend to the pet ring thing.

He’d been putting it off for _ages_ ; when he’d started talking to the council members, he’d gone to view it and had reacted… poorly. Besides the initial shock of seeing such young pets, came the horror of having rape-y wrestling at the center of the room.

Had Laurent been a more religious man, he’d have prayed.

His excuse to the council for never going again was that he had no taste for other people’s pets and that watching people fuck like that was boring; someone had then invited Nicaise to pet ring, in hopes that that would please Laurent.

Well, they’d hoped wrong.

But now he had no excuse; he had a new pet that was to his tastes (not that he’d say it out loud, but gorgeous was everyone’s taste) and a cleared evening for him to participate in the games.

Vere’s Royal Court was a bag of shit Laurent couldn’t wait to throw out the window.

So!

Preparations were in need; he’d begun his day early, calling on the System as he dressed for the day.

**PING!**

_What are the things that absolutely need to be done in this chapter?_

**[We thank the User for asking! Here’s a list of basic requirements for this chapter:**

  * **Prince Damianos must fight in the ring.**
  * **Prince Damianos must fight against Govart Deschiens.**
  * **Prince Damianos must kiss Prince Laurent’s boot.**



**Any extra point won will be in favor of the User!]**

Three little things, Laurent thought. It should be so easy. It didn’t even say Damianos should win, he just had to be there! But also, Govart Deschiens? The Govart Laurent had spent the last years dodging like a plague? Fuck you, System! Was that even in the original? It wasn’t fair!

It all just meant that Govart would have an extra desire to beat Damianos to get back at Laurent. Fuck, Damianos would be raped right in front of him, just like in the book, and he’d be fucking powerless. Laurent tried to think of a way around it, did he know of any steroids that could be administered quickly?

No, he didn’t. Fuck, would he need to ask Paschal’s help? Absolutely out of the question, he wouldn’t be able to explain himself, and he did need to explain why he needed some enhancer.

Shit, what if they thought it was for fucking? His reputation would be ruined!

The prince spread his legs for an Akielon barbarian, they’d say- No, _worse_! When word reached that that was Prince Damianos they’d say, ‘ _the prince spread for his brother’s killer’_.

Abso-fucking-lutely not. Not happening. Nu-uh.

Noup!

The only thing he could do what give Damianos a big meal and hope for the best.

Should he give him a little pep talk? Hype him up like a movie coach?

God, this was pathetic.

He sent for Radel, and as he waited, Nicaise sat on his lap at his desk.

“You didn’t sleep,” he accused. “Why are you worried?”

“Why should I be worried?” He absolutely was, but it was an exercise in planning ahead, so he made Nicaise think about it. A little game of theirs to train Nicaise in self-saving strategies; find the problem and react to it in a way that will ensure your survival.

“You have a new slave, but he’s different to the others; that’s not good, is it? He’s bigger and they expect you two to fuck, but you’re not going to. You have to find an agreement; compromise and not insult anyone, yes?”

“And what else?” Nicaise hummed.

“Your Uncle, probably, but I don’t know what he’ll do.”

He was about to say ‘ _bitch, me too, the fuck’_ as he was interrupted by Radel knocking and asking for permission to enter.

“Come in,” Laurent stretched his arms over the desk.

“Your Highness,” Radel went up to him, not bothering to sit down as he started reporting Damianos’ wellbeing. God bless professional workers.

“The slave was brought up to the rooms yesterday eve, and he was given food and water. He was offered broth and bread, but he is yet to eat. He did drink, thankfully. He seems in overall good health, but, if I may ask?”

Laurent waved his permission.

“As he was taken to the harem rooms, he was… Roughed up. Was this an order from His Highness?”

Laurent felt his eye tick.

“It was not.” He brought his fingers to his temples and rubbed softly, trying to stop any tension from evolving into a headache. It was the last fucking thing he needed. “How roughed up?”

“Nothing broken, only some light bruising. His skin is dark enough to hide it.”

“Fantastic,” he drawled out. It was day one and he’d already fucked up by not guaranteeing Damianos’ safe arrival. But he couldn’t stop and mourn his stupidity, he had work to do. “Offer him an Akielon meal beside the planned breakfast, have him bathed and dressed for the pet ring; I’ll be sending for him after dinner.”

Nicaise gasped in horror; Radel was much more subtle about his surprise.

Yeah, Laurent wasn’t thrilled either but _hey_! He had to survive somehow!

“No paint, no jewelry,” he paused for a moment. “Don’t make the usual preparations, I don’t expect him to bend over. Do not allow anyone to meddle in this. That will be all.”

“Your Highness.” Radel bowed and walked away. Nicaise waited until he was out of hearing range to bellow at Laurent.

“The _pet ring_?” He screeched and Laurent sighed. “There’s less fucked up things to do if you want to have some spark in your sex life-“

Laurent raised his hand to stop him and Nicaise did, even as he looked like he wanted to continue berating Laurent.

“There will be no fucking.”

“Then, what, _genius_? A good fistfight to rouse everyone’s blood?” Nicaise had asked sarcastically, but as he studied Laurent’s expression, he gasped again. “That’s your brilliant idea? Have him beat up some pet? Who will you set him up against, Ancel?” He snorted in mockery. “Damen could knock him out with a sneeze.”

“His rival has already been chosen,” Laurent spoke curtly. Nicaise wasn’t going to like this. Jord wasn’t going to like this. _He_ didn’t like this.

No one was happy, except the stupid System.

“Who is it?” At Laurent's silence, Nicaise straddled him and let his whole weight fall upon him and his chest, making Laurent struggle to breathe. “Laurent, _who is it_?”

“Govart Deschiens.” That made Nicaise lose it.

“Are you out of your _fucking_ mind?!” Laurent sighed. “Govart Deschiens? Was there no worse choice? What were you thinking? Jord is going to strangle you!”

“Jord will do as he’s told, as will you, as will everyone, because I have made a decision, and it is final,” he told Nicaise in a clipped, forceful tone. He rarely used such a tone with him, and it was enough to make Nicaise fall into silence.

Laurent felt guilt creep up into him; he hated speaking to Nicaise like that.

“You have to trust that this is the best way forward I have found. I’m trying to reduce the number of casualties as much as I can. Nicaise, _trust me_ and do as I say.”

Nicaise was still staring at him in anger, but less so as he listened.

Laurent fucking loved Nicaise, and Nicaise knew it, and he knew _him_. He knew Laurent wouldn’t do things just to be cruel, everything he did was for a reason. Finally, he nodded, and Laurent relaxed.

“I want to be there,” said Nicaise.

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“But-“

“I said ‘ _no’_ , and that’s no, Nicaise. You will not go there.”

The pet rings were one of Vere’s most fucked up methods of entertainment, and that saying a lot. Laurent knew Nicaise had never participated, but he’d seen. The Regent had been slowly building up to it before Laurent had taken custody.

Laurent would rather die than let Nicaise go down there ever again. He’d rather kill everyone in the castle and then himself, meme unintended.

Nicaise pouted but settled down. He knew well enough that Laurent didn’t change his mind easily.

“Come on,” Laurent pushed Nicaise softly. “Get off. Let’s go get Jord.”

. . .

Just as they’d predicted, Jord was also extremely unhappy at the situation, but he knew better than to try to dissuade Laurent from his choice, though it probably had to do with the fact that after telling him he was to retrieve Govart Deschiens, Nicaise told him, quite emphatically:

“He’s not changing his mind; might as well just do as he says.”

Laurent was just the tiniest bit offended when Jord sighed in defection and went to do as he was told.

Then it all came down to waiting for the scheduled time.

The whole day was felt in stitches; both he and Nicaise spoke little and clipped, barely a real conversation. Laurent took care of letters and state’s news and Nicaise studied.

He was studying Akielon, Laurent realized with pride. He sat on the chair next to him, as they usually worked together, and set to memorize words about friendliness and good-will.

_‘Thank you.’_

_‘Happy to see you.’_

_‘Let’s play together.’_

Laurent tried to imagine Prince Damianos of Akielos, conqueror, and avenger, crouching down next to Nicaise to play backgammon. Would he laugh and enjoy himself? Would he be concentrated in the rules, following them, and strategizing like a man of his intelligence could?

He shook his head to erase the picture. It would never happen; he shouldn’t want it to happen. It was dangerous for everyone involved: for Nicaise if he were hurt, for Damianos if he hurt Nicaise (because Laurent would strangle him with his own chiton), and for Laurent if he hurt Damianos.

It was a rock-paper-scissors that would never end well for Laurent’s health.

When the time neared, he changed his clothes into the most tightly laced clothes he owned, the dark blue suit with the tall neck and pale laces, Nicaise helped him to tie them at his back while Laurent brushed his hair. He would’ve liked to leave it loose, but he knew it was a bad idea: he looked younger and softer. The exact opposite of what he was supposed to be, a cold prince who might torture you for fun. He made a tight braid.

He thanked Nicaise with a soft pat on the top of his carefully arranged curls and left for the ring. 


	11. Epic Ring Fights of Literature - Paid Mercenary vs. Trained Slave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a smaller chapter but I'm finally writing again! My job decided to change my department and it's been HELL. I missed writing so much!   
> But have this one! 
> 
> CW. Talk of rape, explicit threats of violence. Canon-typical but alas, it's important to me that you know this.   
> Thank you for your attention!

The room was absolutely packed, Laurent noticed with disgust. They all came for him, of course; they wanted to see why their bitch-ice-cold prince was down there with the rabble. _What was he planning? What game did he want to play and how to use it for our own advantage?_

Sick fucks.

Damianos was brought in front of him, made to kneel as Laurent sat on his silk draped chair. He looked extremely pissed and Laurent understood it, oh so well. Being forced to stay in this god-forsaken castle was a motherfucking bother and Laurent didn’t wish it on anybody; hopefully, Laurent would be released from his Damianos-related homework and would give the darkened majesty time to plan his escape without k-wording Laurent on his way out.

He leaned in to study his face carefully.

Just as Radel had said, he had beaten. Barely any hurt on his face but Laurent could see his ribs and arms were bruised, the skin looking almost purple. He looked shimmery with the oils they’d rubbed onto his skin; no jewelry, no paint, just as he’d ordered. He was barely dressed: fine, translucent cloth was wrapped around his waist and chest, pinned with a single gold pin, a poor mimic of Akielon chitons. 

He looked austere. He looked like a slave, and, to Laurent’s mortification, he looked _really good_.

**PING!**

**[Communication is important! Please choose one of the following options:**

  1. **Ready to please me, sweetheart?**
  2. **You have a cut on your lip.**
  3. **Aren’t you going to say _‘Hello, Master’_?]**



“You have a cut on your lip,” he decided. It was the least aggressive option, even if it sounded mocking. Damen looked away with a huff; Laurent pressed. “Does it hurt?”

Damianos continued to ignore him, which was fair since Laurent’s tone was cold. He probably thought he was mocking him, but Laurent _was_ actually concerned. The protagonist was hurt, and Laurent had already read 10,000 pages of him being pushed down until he couldn’t stand. Sue him for liking a dude!

In his silence, Laurent wanted to grab Damianos by the face and have him stare back. Give me a reaction, please! I need to know your brain cells work after last night! You need them this morning!

“Your Highness!” A woman’s voice called, and Laurent looked up to Lady Vannes. “How good to see you! What brings you to our humble ring?”

“I felt in the mood for entertainment,” he lied as he straightened up.

“Your new pet is causing quite a stir.” Vannes walked around Damen, who was still kneeling, as she spoke, studying him. “He’s nothing like the slaves that Kastor gifted to your uncle. I wonder if Your Highness has had the chance to see them? They’re much more-”

“I’ve seen them.”

“You don’t sound pleased.” Laurent shrugged and Lady Vannes nodded knowingly. “Of course His Highness wouldn’t, they don’t quite have the _charm_ this one does.”

Lord Estienne joined them too, drawn in by Vannes’ excited speech.

How lovely, Laurent _loved_ being around courtesans with freaky morality.

“Your Highness,” he bowed, but kept his eyes on Damen’s bare, giant shoulders; Alban, Estienne’s lithe little pet, was also staring. Both looked at him in fear and wariness; they seemed to understand Damen was not a toy to be trifled with, but a real, living danger in their own country.

Sensible men.

“His Highness’ pet looks appropriate for winning any future match His Highness organizes, is that our Prince’s intention?”

“Depends on how today goes,” Laurent answered even though the answer was ‘ _no’_. He wouldn’t be stepping in a ring ever again if he could help it.

The conversation turned to gossip as Vannes and Estienne chirped about the other slaves, the ones who were malleable and sweet and lovely. Laurent tuned them out when he realized they were just commenting on the barbaric practice of slavery; he already had opinions on that.

And soon enough, the first match started.

Laurent took notice of how tense Damianos was next to him. The heat of the room had already dried his oils, but his short curls were still damp, standing out darker than the rest. They bounced as he looked around the room to see the lords and ladies enjoying the creepy live porn scene.

Laurent wasn’t drawn to the spectacle at all, a side effect of having morals; he let his eyes find a focus point in the floor near where the pets were fucking and paid attention to his surroundings through his sideways view. When the little show finally ended, Laurent stood up and made a sign to a guard near him. The guard took hold of Damen’s binding and forced him to stand.

“You lot kept asking me to visit,” he said to the crowd, keeping his eyes on people’s faces and not their pets. “I believe it is time to indulge you.”

Thrilled murmurs filled the room as Damianos was brought to the center of the arena and released from his bonds. He didn’t rub at his wrists, but he did stretch his shoulders, surely stiff from being tied for so long.

Then Govart came out of the shadows, already half-dressed for the fight. Laurent had not seen him in the last years, but he’d kept himself informed of his process and comings-and-goings; he’d turned from a simple soldier only trained in the basics into the Regent’s favorite to-go mercenary, thug, and intimidation method. He didn’t quite look like his brother, Laurent noted in numb indifference. He was uglier, he was bigger. He looked angrier.

 _Yikes_.

Laurent rubbed the space between his eyebrows, begging not to get a headache from stress.

 _Sorry, Damianos; you’re about to get fucked twice over. Once by life, and once by a man who hates me very, very much._ Laurent just prayed the ordeal would end soon.

Damianos and Govart got on their knees, wrapped around each other like the little pets had done before. Laurent made a sign in the air, and the fight began.

Govart attacked first, violently, going straight for Damianos’ eyes.

Damianos took hold of the situation, forcing Govart’s hands out of the way, making them roll, and pinning him down under him. It was, in no way, a sexy tumble down. It was harsh, it was clean, and Damianos was clearly in control.

Laurent allowed himself a little hope. Not too much, because he didn’t want to jinx it, but enough to sit straighter in his chair, to lean forward and stare in rapt attention.

Govart had also seemed to understand he was losing because he began attacking in more precise strikes. He went for Damianos’ bruised sides, soft tissue and nerve ends. They grunted and growled as they wrestled.

Suddenly, Govart gained the upper hand and threw Damianos onto his stomach, and sat on the back of Damianos’ thighs. Cold sweat drenched Laurent’s body.

This was it. Govart was going to fuck Damianos; this was one of The Darkened Prince of Akielos’ most brutal scenes, and Laurent could almost read the lines, how Damianos felt as he was taken by force, the disgust, the hate towards the man above him, towards the hateful Prince Laurent who’d arranged the whole fight-

Then Damianos bucked back, knocked Govart off, and hit him on the temple with the golden cuff. Govart went down like a bag of potatoes.

The room stood in silence as Damianos stood up and, chest still heaving from exerting himself, walked up to Laurent only to bend the knee in front of him.

“I fight in your service, Your Highness,” he said, his voice rough and breathy. “I exist only to please my Prince. May my victory reflect on your glory.”

His… _victory_.

Damianos had _won_.

His body moved on its own, his leg stretched out, his boot coming to rest just within Damianos’ field of vision.

“Kiss it,” he ordered in a low voice.

And Damianos, the proud prince of Akielos, did. He leaned in, gently held Laurent by the heel, and pressed his lips to the very tip. His eyes were cast downwards, but he remained in place. Laurent could feel his ragged breath over his boot, the feather-light pressure of his mouth on the leather. He felt a shiver go up his spine as he looked down at Damen’s dark hair and imagined Damianos looking up at him with dark eyes.

_I desperately hope this doesn’t awaken anything in me._

The room exploded in applause and Laurent took a deep breath for the first time since the early morning. Damianos visibly startled at the noise but stayed where he was.

**PING!**

**[Greetings, User! Congratulations! You have completed this chapter’s challenges! You’ve won 5,000 points! Keep up the good work!]**

_OH! THANK! FUCK!_

“Masterful performance!” Some courtier exclaimed and voices rose in equal enthusiasm to compliment the spectacle.

“You may rise,” Laurent told Damianos, who did so slowly. From where Laurent was sitting, he seemed even more of a giant. A hero who’d just won a fight with the Final Boss and was finally standing straight and free from worries.

He wasn’t all that right now, but that’s what Laurent assumed he’d look like after fighting Kastor for his throne.

But it was still a good job! He’d won! He’d saved himself from a very, very bad situation! Good for him!

“Your Highness, you’ve worked miracles!” Guion’s voice suddenly filled Laurent’s ears, as he entered the little circle that had formed around Laurent’s chair. “The slave was completely unmanageable on the ship, and now look at him!”

He sounded _way_ too happy about this and Laurent half expected Damianos to punch him in the face, but he was not looking at Guion. Laurent followed his eyes and saw Nicaise next to him, nervously shifting his stance.

Laurent didn’t move a muscle in his face but by the look on Nicaise’s face as he looked away, he knew he’d conveyed what he wanted to say:

_What the actual fuck are you doing here. I said you couldn’t come with me. I specifically said NO for a reason. Young man, you are in so much trouble. I’m gonna strangle you when we go back to the rooms._

Another man, Councilor Audin, came next to Guion. He was one of the Regent’s men, high in the chain of command, which meant bad news for Laurent.

“Magnificent fight, Your Highness!” He praised. Laurent greeted him with a nod of his head. Audin rarely approached Laurent, and he only did when he wanted something _very_ _badly_. “What a victory! Your slave deserves a reward.”

“A reward,” Laurent said, flatly. The best reward for everyone would be to send Damianos back to the rooms to wash and sleep, and then send him on his way to Akielos. That’d buy them a great number of brownie points.

“Of course! A fight like that, _splendid_ , but with no climax. Allow us to offer him a pet; I believe I am not the only one eager to see him _perform_ ,” he purred the final word and looked to Guion’s side, directly at Nicaise.

He-

He wanted Laurent to offer _Nicaise_? His ward, his little brother, his favorite person in the world? Nicaise immediately looked at Laurent in horror and _oh_ , Laurent was going to end Audin’s miserable life. _No one_ was allowed to frighten Nicaise.

Laurent stood up from his chair, slowly and never taking his eyes off the man.

**PING!**

**[Communication is important! Please choose one of the following options:**

  1. **If Councilor is so desperate for a performance, why doesn’t he get on his knees for my pet? He certainly deserves release and I’m sure the Councilor’s mouth is well trained after sucking my Uncle’s balls dry in search of favor. Did he have you shave for that? He does so favor a smooth face.**
  2. **You want to see my pet impaled on a savage’s cock? I’d rather see yours. He’s better for it, aren’t you? Guards, set the ring again. I bet my horse the pet will come from sucking my slave off.**
  3. ***Challenge him to a duel* ALL DUELS ARE DENIED ATM.]**



Laurent opened his mouth but Damianos beat him to it.

“Do whatever you want to me. I’m not going to rape a child.” He spoke quickly, his words, from behind his clenched jaws, for Laurent only. No one else had heard, his murmur drowned out by the crowds' excited chatter.

Laurent blinked at him. Did he think Laurent was going to be all _‘oh yeah, great idea, have this thirteen-year-old, enjoy him’_? Who the fuck did he think Laurent _was_? Was that what Damen thought? That all Veretians sat together in fancy rooms to plot all day and fuck children all night?

God, having Damen out of his rooms was a mistake; why the fuck did the System want this?! Did he want Laurent murdered? Wasn’t Laurent supposed to change the story, save himself? Save Damianos?

This part was already fixed, so why-

“Your Highness?” Audin pressed and Laurent turned to snap at him.

“He declines the offer. As do I.” Estienne withered under his stern look.

“Your Highness, I meant no disrespect-“

“Of course not,” Laurent cooed sweetly. “I am sure such talk is welcomed in my Uncle’s presence. Nicaise,” he called, his voice back to frostbite. “We’re leaving.”

. . .

As soon as the door in their rooms shut, Laurent spoke up, not bothering in calming his voice.

“What were you thinking?” Inside of him, his emotions were doing a motherfucking tango with each other; the elation of Damianos having won, the acrid terror of having Nicaise in danger, the pure rage at Councilor Audin for even thinking about Nicaise being fucked on the floor, the uncertainty and shame that came with Damianos’ statement.

Nicaise remained quiet. 

“It wasn’t a rhetorical question, Nicaise. I do expect an answer. Today, if it please you,” he began unlacing his sleeves in rough movements. He was too hot, too full, too emotional to handle anything more than a single item of clothing. Off went the silks-

“Nothing happened, it’s alright-“ 

“It is, isn’t it?” Laurent asked him. “ _Alright_. My slave won the fight, I indulged everyone who needed indulging. A fine day indeed, but let’s play a game, shall we?” Nicaise swallowed audibly. “Let’s play an _imagining_ game. Imagine Damen loses the fight, and we see him get fucked in the arena. He takes up Govart’s cock in the ass and hates it, and at the end I have a boastful Govart, a hurt slave who will be furious I put him there, and you, seeing something you shouldn’t have, all while having to graciously accept defeat in front of Uncle’s court.

“Imagine I never indulge Vannes and she grows tired of asking; she thinks me too proud for not playing along with the Court. When I turn twenty-one, I have no friends in Court, I have no allies, only a group of older men who think their new King is a child who doesn’t care about them and with whom they’ve never talked but a couple of phrases in passing, most of which have been insults. ‘ _His Uncle was a much better Regent’_ , they say, and they overthrow me and put Uncle in charge again.

“Imagine I were forced to accept _Councilor Audin’s_ proposal, and I have to see you get prepared to take a giant Akielon warrior’s cock in the center of the pet ring. You quickly lose and he enters you hard enough to make you _bleed_ ; you cry but he doesn’t care because this is a reward, and a soldier _always_ takes his rewards and he’s been _dying_ for a tight fuck, and I have to stay in the dais watching as you are raped and I cannot defend you because you were _stupid_ enough to-“

A sob interrupted Laurent’s rant.

His whole body tensed at the sight of Nicaise looking down and away from him, trying to stifle his cries and whimpers to no avail.

“Nicaise,” Laurent sighed in a trembling voice, pulling the child quickly into his arms, still filled with anger and worry. He’d been terrified for those moments when Nicaise being put in the arena was a real possibility. Nicaise let himself manhandled and threw his arms around Laurent’s neck. “When I tell you to do something, you _ought_ to do it,” he kept going, not done yet as Nicaise bawled on his shoulder.

“I thought he-“ Nicaise began but whatever he said disappeared into sobs. Laurent understood anyway; he’d been scared too. Laurent promised to protect him, but he couldn’t do that if Nicaise flung himself into danger by his own volition.

Laurent began running his hands up and down Nicaise’s back to console him. He couldn’t say anything that’d help, and even if the System allowed it, he wouldn’t be sure what to say.

He wouldn’t apologize, that’s for damn sure. He didn’t mean to scare Nicaise, but he needed to understand that his actions had consequences. Bigger consequences than he thought.

Eventually, Nicaise calmed down enough to step away from Laurent’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, and Laurent nodded quickly, pressing his lips to his little brother’s temple. _I am sorry too, for scaring you just now. I accept your apology. I love you._

_I love you._

After a few more moments of the kid drying his face with his sleeves, Nicaise chuckled.

“Damen’s fight was...” Laurent nodded.

“It was not without merit.”

“He knocked Govart out with-“

“With a single hit, _yes_ ,” Laurent finished more vehemently than he’d wanted, and Nicaise laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! Comments and extra kudos are Greatly Appreciated!!  
> My twitter is @AnielkaEla, come hmu!!


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